I'm so tired. Didn't wanna get out of bed today, but did it anyway. Still haven't broken to pieces yet, still waiting for it to happen. Fighting to drag it out, pushing it away for as long as I can.
Yet again, I'm trying to run away from myself. I know that doesn't work in the long run, but even if just for a few hours, or minutes... I'm fighting this as much as I can, cause I'm dreading what will happen when I can't anymore.
I'm just so fucking sick and tired of my brain, and what it does to me. Feels like it actually wants to kill me. Just wanna isolate myself completely. Not answer any calls, not going online anymore, not inviting anyone. Barricade the door, shut off my computer, shut off my phone. Cause I think being around other people is making it worse. It's people I get mad at, that I feel guilty about, that I miss, long for, fall in love with.
Nothing will solve this, it's just gonna repeat itself again. What am I supposed to learn from all this? That love is death and will eventually kill me? That no matter how hard and real I love someone I will never experience true love? Or that once I give up, completely give up, that is when I will find true love?
It's hard to think clearly. And I keep blocking out certain thoughts, certain words and memories that harms me emotionally. Things I won't allow myself to think about. They're there, in an underlying layer of thoughts, I just keep them from coming up to the surface. To form into words, pictures and reminders, emotional wounds.
Am I damaged beyond repair, or will I somehow come out of this? I know that I will, or most likely to. But the question is bigger than that. I can't allow for this to happen again, or we'll be talking about self fulfilling prophecies again. I'm in too much pain to cry, but I've been crying inside non stop since yesterday. Sometimes my eyes get a little wet, but dry within seconds again. Maybe I'm holding that back too.
Saturday, 30 November 2013
Friday, 29 November 2013
Love is death
Once again my feelings are killing me, but I hold them back as much as I can, to stop myself from doing something incredibly stupid. But I know that if this won't make me give up, once and for all, I must really be holding on to life this time. But I don't even know why I hold on. When I don't even think anything good will come out of it. I've fallen in love with misery. Isn't it tragic that such a thing had to happen for me to want to stay alive? Maybe I don't even want to be happy, and that's what makes me a hopeless case. But I'm not a case, I'm a person.
So used to being broken, that the thought of not being broken is so far away I can't even imagine it if I try my best. Why should I even? Imagining a life I can never have is like imagining being someone else. Cause I can never be someone else, it's so pointless to dream. Have I finally learned that now? Or will I keep repeating it for as long as I'm alive? I hope that I will have learned it. I'm so tired of making the same mistakes over and over.
I'm so tired of repeating this mistake I promised not to do again. How could I once think that love would heal me, it's done nothing but hurt me. Love is death, it will be the end of me. I just know it. For I promised myself to never fall in love again, and this is where it has led me to. How can emotions be so dangerous? It's just a feeling. The emotions themselves are probably not so dangerous, but when they lead to total self destruction, they are.
My hopes are slipping away, like sand between my fingers. Desperately I try to hold on, clinging to every grain. They're dissolving, evaporating, and blowing away in the wind. I desperately try not to cry, to not let it devour me. One of my worst fears, but it was so likely to happen, and maybe that was why I feared it so much. Yet it isn't too late, it doesn't have to be the end of me. I've seen this happen before, it can still take another turn. It's not impossible. Yet I can't bear it.
This weight in my heart is just too heavy, but the numbness is keeping me alive. I force this sadness and hopelessness down, shove it down back the way it came from. I won't be able to much longer though. Sooner or later it will break out in full strength, and when it does... I don't know, I don't want to think about it. I'll probably tear the place down, I'll probably scream and cry my heart out and tear myself to pieces. But for now I drink my tea and smoke my cigarettes, I'm doing okay.
So used to being broken, that the thought of not being broken is so far away I can't even imagine it if I try my best. Why should I even? Imagining a life I can never have is like imagining being someone else. Cause I can never be someone else, it's so pointless to dream. Have I finally learned that now? Or will I keep repeating it for as long as I'm alive? I hope that I will have learned it. I'm so tired of making the same mistakes over and over.
I'm so tired of repeating this mistake I promised not to do again. How could I once think that love would heal me, it's done nothing but hurt me. Love is death, it will be the end of me. I just know it. For I promised myself to never fall in love again, and this is where it has led me to. How can emotions be so dangerous? It's just a feeling. The emotions themselves are probably not so dangerous, but when they lead to total self destruction, they are.
My hopes are slipping away, like sand between my fingers. Desperately I try to hold on, clinging to every grain. They're dissolving, evaporating, and blowing away in the wind. I desperately try not to cry, to not let it devour me. One of my worst fears, but it was so likely to happen, and maybe that was why I feared it so much. Yet it isn't too late, it doesn't have to be the end of me. I've seen this happen before, it can still take another turn. It's not impossible. Yet I can't bear it.
This weight in my heart is just too heavy, but the numbness is keeping me alive. I force this sadness and hopelessness down, shove it down back the way it came from. I won't be able to much longer though. Sooner or later it will break out in full strength, and when it does... I don't know, I don't want to think about it. I'll probably tear the place down, I'll probably scream and cry my heart out and tear myself to pieces. But for now I drink my tea and smoke my cigarettes, I'm doing okay.
Wednesday, 27 November 2013
Finally a change
I haven't even been up for a whole day, yet I feel beyond lethargic and apathetic. I feel broken, hollow, like I'm just a shivering and aching shell. Since I've started sleeping again I've been feeling worse. A lot worse. I can barely focus at all, feel more stupid and thick headed than usually, I can't eat and I'm shifting between being freezing cold and sweaty warm all the time.
Sure these nutrition drinks are a good thing and all, but there's a hole in my stomach that hurts when I'm hungry, eating and full. I'm tired, dizzy, nauseous and I just wanna disappear. But I have no wish to sleep so I don't sleep for as long as I used to. No 30 hours at a time anymore, now it's about 10, which is better I suppose. But I have a feeling it's gonna take time before I get better again.
Sleep deprivation and a messed up circadian rhythm can really fuck you up. Three months and I've reached my breaking point. Luckily, I'm apathetic enough to forget about my hypnophobia somehow. Cause I just do and fuck the rest. Tired and can't stay awake? I just won't then. Scared of sleeping, sure as hell, but I've got bigger monsters to fear.
Sure these nutrition drinks are a good thing and all, but there's a hole in my stomach that hurts when I'm hungry, eating and full. I'm tired, dizzy, nauseous and I just wanna disappear. But I have no wish to sleep so I don't sleep for as long as I used to. No 30 hours at a time anymore, now it's about 10, which is better I suppose. But I have a feeling it's gonna take time before I get better again.
Sleep deprivation and a messed up circadian rhythm can really fuck you up. Three months and I've reached my breaking point. Luckily, I'm apathetic enough to forget about my hypnophobia somehow. Cause I just do and fuck the rest. Tired and can't stay awake? I just won't then. Scared of sleeping, sure as hell, but I've got bigger monsters to fear.
Keep my head on
This will be one of those cryptic entries, I think. Cause I don't know if you'll be able to figure out what I'm writing about, or if it remains a what the fuck sort of thing. You tell me, I'm just the writer.
I just got this messed up thought in my head. How would my crush look like dead? No matter what would be the cause of death, I wonder what he would look like. Why do I wanna imagine him being dead? That's absurd! Oh, wait... just remembered that isn't such a weird thought for me. Never mind. I think I'll keep that reason to myself, or at least I won't spell it out, in case you've figured it out I mean. Cause some taboos are meant to be taboo.
Though they're just thoughts and fantasies really, I would never actually want him dead of course. That would be terrible, beyond terrible, the world would stop spinning, or it fucking should. This is me writing about something I don't think I'm actually prepared to or think that I should write about. One of those things I'd rather lock up in a little black box and throw away the key. And then throw away the box. But of course I can't throw away my feelings, no matter how much I want to.
Even I don't parade everything I have, and this is one of the things I really don't want to admit to having. I might "joke" about it at a party, or discreetly discuss it on an internet forum from the darkest, most secret society pit of the world wide web where I'm super anonymous.
Though I think it's rather rare. Well, I've seen a few on Flashback, but I can't be sure how serious they were and I didn't interact. People don't understand it, heck even I can't bloody figure out why I'm wired that way. Though I would never go through with actually doing it in reality, or at least that's very unlikely due to it being illegal and stuff. What is it with me so damn morally corrupt?! Anyways, it's something that's been joked about a lot, but you rarely see someone admitting to actually having that fetish. You just don't. If you wanna keep your head on, that is.
I just got this messed up thought in my head. How would my crush look like dead? No matter what would be the cause of death, I wonder what he would look like. Why do I wanna imagine him being dead? That's absurd! Oh, wait... just remembered that isn't such a weird thought for me. Never mind. I think I'll keep that reason to myself, or at least I won't spell it out, in case you've figured it out I mean. Cause some taboos are meant to be taboo.
Though they're just thoughts and fantasies really, I would never actually want him dead of course. That would be terrible, beyond terrible, the world would stop spinning, or it fucking should. This is me writing about something I don't think I'm actually prepared to or think that I should write about. One of those things I'd rather lock up in a little black box and throw away the key. And then throw away the box. But of course I can't throw away my feelings, no matter how much I want to.
Even I don't parade everything I have, and this is one of the things I really don't want to admit to having. I might "joke" about it at a party, or discreetly discuss it on an internet forum from the darkest, most secret society pit of the world wide web where I'm super anonymous.
Though I think it's rather rare. Well, I've seen a few on Flashback, but I can't be sure how serious they were and I didn't interact. People don't understand it, heck even I can't bloody figure out why I'm wired that way. Though I would never go through with actually doing it in reality, or at least that's very unlikely due to it being illegal and stuff. What is it with me so damn morally corrupt?! Anyways, it's something that's been joked about a lot, but you rarely see someone admitting to actually having that fetish. You just don't. If you wanna keep your head on, that is.
Tuesday, 26 November 2013
Make up my mind
This ambivalence drives me crazy. On one hand I really do want to go to sleep, I pine for it, miss it. On the other hand I want to keep staying up, cause what fun is sleeping anyways? I'm equally torn between those two and I can't make a decision. I just can't. I've tried for three hours to make up my damn mind, but it seems impossible.
This 100 hours thing is crazy, and I keep screwing it up all the damn time. Pushing myself to the breaking point and then getting angry with myself for not being able to push it further. Idiotically comparing myself to the last world record breaker who stayed up for 18 days and feeling like a failure for not even being able to go through 4 days. Something is wrong in this picture.
I don't know what to do with myself. It's like when you don't know where to put your hands in certain stressful or nervous situations. You keep trying different positions: across your chest, in your pockets, straight down along your sides, holding something, anything, but nothing feels right. I feel like that now, but with my whole body and mind.
This 100 hours thing is crazy, and I keep screwing it up all the damn time. Pushing myself to the breaking point and then getting angry with myself for not being able to push it further. Idiotically comparing myself to the last world record breaker who stayed up for 18 days and feeling like a failure for not even being able to go through 4 days. Something is wrong in this picture.
I don't know what to do with myself. It's like when you don't know where to put your hands in certain stressful or nervous situations. You keep trying different positions: across your chest, in your pockets, straight down along your sides, holding something, anything, but nothing feels right. I feel like that now, but with my whole body and mind.
Monday, 25 November 2013
Resting places
So I went down for a little stroll to the grocery store today, and I was so tired I almost fell asleep while walking. But then I sat down on a bench to have a cigarette and I nodded off constantly, in minus degrees. If I didn't have my irrational fear of sleep and focused on that cigarette, I could easily have fallen asleep right then and there.
Oh damn, I think I fell asleep on the floor. Woke up just a few hours later, so I'm just gonna count this as a nap. Naps are okay, as long as they are under 3 hours long. Especially since I wasn't even aware of what I was doing prior to falling asleep. A dream not yet dreamt made me believe that I had some important mission to do and needed to reach a relaxed state in order to do so. Then I actually dreamt that I went through with that absurd mission. Or was it even a dream? I was pretty gone on my rug with just a blanket wrapped around my shoulders.
Today, it seems I have discovered that by this point, I could fall asleep just about anywhere and anytime. Not at all dangerous... Just keep in doors away from flammable objects then. And hope I won't fall asleep while smoking somewhere. Would be such a drag if I torched the place and myself in it.
Oh damn, I think I fell asleep on the floor. Woke up just a few hours later, so I'm just gonna count this as a nap. Naps are okay, as long as they are under 3 hours long. Especially since I wasn't even aware of what I was doing prior to falling asleep. A dream not yet dreamt made me believe that I had some important mission to do and needed to reach a relaxed state in order to do so. Then I actually dreamt that I went through with that absurd mission. Or was it even a dream? I was pretty gone on my rug with just a blanket wrapped around my shoulders.
Today, it seems I have discovered that by this point, I could fall asleep just about anywhere and anytime. Not at all dangerous... Just keep in doors away from flammable objects then. And hope I won't fall asleep while smoking somewhere. Would be such a drag if I torched the place and myself in it.
Stand up for yourself, damn it
My mood swings are back, and rather severely. Fuck. Today I've been shifting between being furious, sad and hysterically laughing at everything. And then back and forth between those faster than I can comprehend. Why do I have to be such an emotional chaos, even when drugged up on mood stabilisers?! Yeah, sleep deprivation isn't dangerous at all... it just makes me a super borderline-depressive-schizophrenic-fucked-up mess. And intensifies it. Loads.
If I didn't hate my brain before, I sure as hell do now. Excuse my while I go off and OD on my meds... nah, just kidding, but the urge is there.
Tried to speak my opinion about feminism in a debate/conversation with an acquaintance on Facebook. My god, I've been awake for 52 hours and I'm lethargic and wired at the same time. I rarely, no I think I've never expressed my true opinion about feminism before. Afraid to mess things up considering almost all of my friends have so solid opinions about the issue and I don't agree with them. Me? Afraid to speak my mind? Apparently, but I don't want to do that anymore. Even though it's hard being tackled down by my friends, I shouldn't be afraid to open up to them.
I think that the concept of feminism is faulty and I dislike that people follow it so blindly. I think that I only have one friend who realises that the concept is faulty and luckily that is my crush. "Luckily" because his opinion is the most important to me since I fell for him. Though I don't know fully what he thinks about the issue at large, I might be wrong about him agreeing with me, cause I really don't know to be honest. (The person I mainly had this debate with is by the way a mutual friend to my crush, which means he can read the dispute and my opinions if he wants to).
I only know that his opinion isn't a blind slavery to a political issue that everyone seem to be expected to follow blindly without questioning it. What the fuck is wrong with people? Politics are meant to be opinionated and questioned. That is how we evolve and change this fucked up society!
If I didn't hate my brain before, I sure as hell do now. Excuse my while I go off and OD on my meds... nah, just kidding, but the urge is there.
Tried to speak my opinion about feminism in a debate/conversation with an acquaintance on Facebook. My god, I've been awake for 52 hours and I'm lethargic and wired at the same time. I rarely, no I think I've never expressed my true opinion about feminism before. Afraid to mess things up considering almost all of my friends have so solid opinions about the issue and I don't agree with them. Me? Afraid to speak my mind? Apparently, but I don't want to do that anymore. Even though it's hard being tackled down by my friends, I shouldn't be afraid to open up to them.
I think that the concept of feminism is faulty and I dislike that people follow it so blindly. I think that I only have one friend who realises that the concept is faulty and luckily that is my crush. "Luckily" because his opinion is the most important to me since I fell for him. Though I don't know fully what he thinks about the issue at large, I might be wrong about him agreeing with me, cause I really don't know to be honest. (The person I mainly had this debate with is by the way a mutual friend to my crush, which means he can read the dispute and my opinions if he wants to).
I only know that his opinion isn't a blind slavery to a political issue that everyone seem to be expected to follow blindly without questioning it. What the fuck is wrong with people? Politics are meant to be opinionated and questioned. That is how we evolve and change this fucked up society!
Sunday, 24 November 2013
Who I was supposed to be
I hate being so dependent. On things, people, money, schedules, society, anything. While most of those things I can't just break the connection with (though I've tried), some of them I've on and off been believing I could break off with. Like medicine, for example. Why should I not be able to live without that? I'm not terminally ill, I can't die from some unspecified, undiagnosed mental illness, and I'm handicapped either way. What if it would be better? What if I could think clearer, crawl out of my shell?
And people. Everyone is more or less dependent on other people; your boss to give you pay checks, your landlord to not kick you out of your apartment, your dentist or doctor, and even your friends and family to be there for you. But I'm a little bit more dependent than the average joe. Definitely more than I would like to be. That's where my "running away" -thoughts come in, when I think I should just get away from everyone and try to live completely on my own for a little while. Because sometimes it just gets too much.
I just don't want to be so dependent on others taking care of me. That I need to rely on strangers from a special service residence to help me wash my clothes cause I can't manage it on my own. I suppose that really bugs me.
Ever since I was a kid I've always wanted to be able to take care of myself, live on my own terms, drive my own business company, get a driver's licence and go wherever I wanted and do whatever I wanted. It never turned out that way, and a part of me just won't accept it.
Still dreaming of that perfect house close to a town, have my own car (a Jeep would be nice) and a freelance job or no fucking job at all, writing and painting all days. Being happy, pill free, living completely alone and not having to as much as talk to a doctor too often to be able to consider myself healthy. Of course I would have a romantic partner living with me as well though, in a good but not perfect relationship where we grow together as people and sometimes bicker over trivialities.
It would have been an almost realistic dream if I hadn't been a mentally handicapped lunatic. Of course I don't hate myself for being a weirdo, sometimes that can be a real asset, and it does make me kinda interesting. But it costs me my freedom. That, in that dream, that is who I was supposed to be. The eccentric, philosophical artist with a little crazy ideas of a good life, independent and possible to live with.
But something deprived me of that possibility, that life. That freedom and independency that I so much crave. I feel constantly trapped in my own body, in my own mind. And there's no way out. I will most likely just continue to deteriorate and even if I don't end up taking my life, I doubt that I will live to 80. Perhaps to 40, or 50 if I'm "lucky" considering smoking shortens one's life span by 10 years, severe mental illness such as Schizophrenia shortens it by 20 years, and my other bad habits will probably also shorten it even more. Maybe it's not so far off thinking I might not even live to 30...
But it is not living a long life that I want, cause what good is a long life if you suffer? I'd rather have a short life. A short and miserable life or a short and decent life are both better than a long and insufferable life. Of course some things can get better, and I do hope that I'll be able to turn it all around to a brighter path, but deep down I know that my chances of making that happen are very slim.
So I don't really hate myself. I just hate my life and what I've become. How it all turned out, and what it's leading to. I see and hear about my friends getting permanent jobs, finishing their studies, talking about pay checks, moving to their own apartments, getting pets, keeping steady relationships for years, getting engaged, getting married, having children.
And I'm just withering away. Still dependent on my parents, can't live entirely on my own or with anyone, probably wouldn't be able to hold a job for more than five minutes, can't even study as of now, wouldn't be able to care for a pet, I've been single for two years and I'll probably never be able to have a child.
I try to tell myself that I'm still young, and most of my friends who have gotten that far in life are older than me. And who knows, maybe things will be different in five or ten years? But I don't believe it. The problem is that I don't believe in it because it's so damn unlikely.
*
Sorry for the super long entry. I just go on and on on the same topics. When I try to finish it off I just think of more to add. I'm hopeless in that area.
And people. Everyone is more or less dependent on other people; your boss to give you pay checks, your landlord to not kick you out of your apartment, your dentist or doctor, and even your friends and family to be there for you. But I'm a little bit more dependent than the average joe. Definitely more than I would like to be. That's where my "running away" -thoughts come in, when I think I should just get away from everyone and try to live completely on my own for a little while. Because sometimes it just gets too much.
I just don't want to be so dependent on others taking care of me. That I need to rely on strangers from a special service residence to help me wash my clothes cause I can't manage it on my own. I suppose that really bugs me.
Ever since I was a kid I've always wanted to be able to take care of myself, live on my own terms, drive my own business company, get a driver's licence and go wherever I wanted and do whatever I wanted. It never turned out that way, and a part of me just won't accept it.
Still dreaming of that perfect house close to a town, have my own car (a Jeep would be nice) and a freelance job or no fucking job at all, writing and painting all days. Being happy, pill free, living completely alone and not having to as much as talk to a doctor too often to be able to consider myself healthy. Of course I would have a romantic partner living with me as well though, in a good but not perfect relationship where we grow together as people and sometimes bicker over trivialities.
It would have been an almost realistic dream if I hadn't been a mentally handicapped lunatic. Of course I don't hate myself for being a weirdo, sometimes that can be a real asset, and it does make me kinda interesting. But it costs me my freedom. That, in that dream, that is who I was supposed to be. The eccentric, philosophical artist with a little crazy ideas of a good life, independent and possible to live with.
But something deprived me of that possibility, that life. That freedom and independency that I so much crave. I feel constantly trapped in my own body, in my own mind. And there's no way out. I will most likely just continue to deteriorate and even if I don't end up taking my life, I doubt that I will live to 80. Perhaps to 40, or 50 if I'm "lucky" considering smoking shortens one's life span by 10 years, severe mental illness such as Schizophrenia shortens it by 20 years, and my other bad habits will probably also shorten it even more. Maybe it's not so far off thinking I might not even live to 30...
But it is not living a long life that I want, cause what good is a long life if you suffer? I'd rather have a short life. A short and miserable life or a short and decent life are both better than a long and insufferable life. Of course some things can get better, and I do hope that I'll be able to turn it all around to a brighter path, but deep down I know that my chances of making that happen are very slim.
So I don't really hate myself. I just hate my life and what I've become. How it all turned out, and what it's leading to. I see and hear about my friends getting permanent jobs, finishing their studies, talking about pay checks, moving to their own apartments, getting pets, keeping steady relationships for years, getting engaged, getting married, having children.
And I'm just withering away. Still dependent on my parents, can't live entirely on my own or with anyone, probably wouldn't be able to hold a job for more than five minutes, can't even study as of now, wouldn't be able to care for a pet, I've been single for two years and I'll probably never be able to have a child.
I try to tell myself that I'm still young, and most of my friends who have gotten that far in life are older than me. And who knows, maybe things will be different in five or ten years? But I don't believe it. The problem is that I don't believe in it because it's so damn unlikely.
*
Sorry for the super long entry. I just go on and on on the same topics. When I try to finish it off I just think of more to add. I'm hopeless in that area.
Hate and acceptance
I realise that I hate more people than I thought. People that have in one way or another wronged me. Some of which I still consider friends. Can one hate a friend? Well, I can hate a person but still like some of their qualities. Enough to keep a distance and always keep my guard up, but still being able to laugh at their jokes and agree with them with some of their opinions. Some of them I just pretend to friends with though. Have them added on Facebook so that I can keep up with what's going on in their lives, and take joy out of their misery. All the while being nice and friendly to them, pretending that I care and like when things go well for them. At the same time as I in my mind hope they fuck up or get hurt by someone else.
I don't really know why I keep in touch with these people, maybe I just am that piteous. Most of the time I don't realise just what happened until some time after. Or well, generally quite long time afterwards, to be honest. When that question someone pushed me with to do something I rather didn't do, repeatedly - and repeatedly I caved in - was more of a demand when I come to think of it. Or when a person showed affection and shunned me for years knowing I was interested, that person was more specifically using me when I come to think of it.
I'm listening to Aesthetic Perfection's song "Schadenfreude", which means gloat in German, but apparently it's an English word as well (obviously a loanword). The chorus is just the best:
Don't need to be the one who does it you
Don't need to twist the knife or push it through
Just want to see that you're in misery too
Just like me inside
I can be a bit stupid when it comes to meeting people that will later hurt me in some way or another. I have always had this attitude that I think I'm whining over trivialities in situations I really should have just ran for my life. It's hard to identify a problem like that, and knowing whether or not it was just a mishap I should get over or something worse, and knowing if it really hurt me. That's the thing about being a wreck already to begin with: sometimes I don't even notice when someone has caused me to feel even worse.
I do know that I'm very careless when it comes to relationships, whether friends or lovers. Give my heart to some asshole who hurts me and then I do it allover again with someone else. Maybe I just can't tell the difference between good and bad people, just because I don't believe there are people of either kind. That if a kind and caring person does something questionable I just think it's human to do so and simply accept it. But I know that I accept too much, and can only hope that some day maybe I will learn when something is not acceptable before I let them break me.
I don't really know why I keep in touch with these people, maybe I just am that piteous. Most of the time I don't realise just what happened until some time after. Or well, generally quite long time afterwards, to be honest. When that question someone pushed me with to do something I rather didn't do, repeatedly - and repeatedly I caved in - was more of a demand when I come to think of it. Or when a person showed affection and shunned me for years knowing I was interested, that person was more specifically using me when I come to think of it.
I'm listening to Aesthetic Perfection's song "Schadenfreude", which means gloat in German, but apparently it's an English word as well (obviously a loanword). The chorus is just the best:
Don't need to be the one who does it you
Don't need to twist the knife or push it through
Just want to see that you're in misery too
Just like me inside
I can be a bit stupid when it comes to meeting people that will later hurt me in some way or another. I have always had this attitude that I think I'm whining over trivialities in situations I really should have just ran for my life. It's hard to identify a problem like that, and knowing whether or not it was just a mishap I should get over or something worse, and knowing if it really hurt me. That's the thing about being a wreck already to begin with: sometimes I don't even notice when someone has caused me to feel even worse.
I do know that I'm very careless when it comes to relationships, whether friends or lovers. Give my heart to some asshole who hurts me and then I do it allover again with someone else. Maybe I just can't tell the difference between good and bad people, just because I don't believe there are people of either kind. That if a kind and caring person does something questionable I just think it's human to do so and simply accept it. But I know that I accept too much, and can only hope that some day maybe I will learn when something is not acceptable before I let them break me.
Keep trying
Fuck it, I have to start over again. How damn hard can it be? I don't understand. Over coming tiredness shouldn't be that fucking hard. Sure, caffeine had no effect, and neither did sugar this morning right before I crashed. But I could have taken a walk or something. At that point I had been awake around 70 hours and had started slapping my face to the point of it aching, blushing red. But it only helped for a few seconds each time. My last resort is usually inflicting pain, without creating wounds, cause wounds release endorphins which make me relaxed. I want to achieve the opposite effect, I want adrenaline. It's been tricky trying to find out what works.
I'm obsessed with this shit, and especially now. I have less than a week to get this done. I want my hundred hours before I stop trying to be awake around the clock and start trying to get a rhythm including sleep again. My next meeting with my psychologist is on Friday, and by then I must be able to say that I have tried and practised that as I said I would do last Friday. I can't screw this up again.
This time, I've calculated to which time and date I will be finished. Until 2 o'clock at night between Wednesday and Thursday I will have to keep these tired eyes of mine open. So I will only have one day and one night to practice that circadian rhythm, as long as I don't fail again, and I won't fail this time. It's stupidly little time left before the meeting, and I will probably have to lie if I want my shrink to keep believing that I actually want to get things normalised again. Cause I really do want that, it's just that I think I won't be able to let go and give my best unless I've reached my crazy achievement first. Maybe it wouldn't be so stupid to tell my shrink that though. Maybe it's irrational that I have this belief, but I think that maybe she would understand why I have it.
I know myself too damn well, and that gut feeling is most likely correct. That I would have that gnawing feeling that I won't be able to give my best to get back to normal again if I feel like a failure for not having reached those 100 hours of sleep deprivation. Maybe it's not so stupid after all: that is a high number of hours, and it would be difficult to break such a record in the future, so it's possible I won't try to break it later on. I believe it will help me to put this behind me once and for all.
I'm obsessed with this shit, and especially now. I have less than a week to get this done. I want my hundred hours before I stop trying to be awake around the clock and start trying to get a rhythm including sleep again. My next meeting with my psychologist is on Friday, and by then I must be able to say that I have tried and practised that as I said I would do last Friday. I can't screw this up again.
This time, I've calculated to which time and date I will be finished. Until 2 o'clock at night between Wednesday and Thursday I will have to keep these tired eyes of mine open. So I will only have one day and one night to practice that circadian rhythm, as long as I don't fail again, and I won't fail this time. It's stupidly little time left before the meeting, and I will probably have to lie if I want my shrink to keep believing that I actually want to get things normalised again. Cause I really do want that, it's just that I think I won't be able to let go and give my best unless I've reached my crazy achievement first. Maybe it wouldn't be so stupid to tell my shrink that though. Maybe it's irrational that I have this belief, but I think that maybe she would understand why I have it.
I know myself too damn well, and that gut feeling is most likely correct. That I would have that gnawing feeling that I won't be able to give my best to get back to normal again if I feel like a failure for not having reached those 100 hours of sleep deprivation. Maybe it's not so stupid after all: that is a high number of hours, and it would be difficult to break such a record in the future, so it's possible I won't try to break it later on. I believe it will help me to put this behind me once and for all.
Saturday, 23 November 2013
Green fingers
I'm cold, but not on the outside. Cause it's 22 degrees in here and I'm wearing more fabric than an astronaut in outer space would wear. I'm trying to heat up a coldness that lies beyond skin and flesh, reaches deeper than internal organs, blood and bones. Somewhere in my mind I am being told that I'm not warm enough no matter what I do.
My ivy is just getting bigger and greener every day it seems. I gave it a name and I'm talking it to it as if the plant was a pet. "Muriz", and no it has no particular gender. It is a plant after all. I even stroke its leaves and carefully hug it sometimes. I think maybe my love and care somehow affects it, cause I've never seen ivy's grow and shine like this one before, with leaves bigger than my palms. I've only had it a few months and it's at least twice as big now, and every single leaf is fresh and vividly green.
It doesn't seem to be at all bothered by the cigarette smoke either, which I find rather remarkable, since it can get pretty damn smoky in here sometimes and it almost looks like I'm suddenly in Silent Hill: foggy with ash swirling around.
I suppose me not being able to have pets on my own kinda sparked an interest in plants, as I feel comfort knowing I'm not the only thing alive in this solitude.
So at least I have some form of company, if you could call it that. And I don't feel so alone when I just turn around from the computer and talk to my green, rather quiet room mate. Now I do realise the level of craziness to this, but it almost kinda feels like we're actually communicating in a way. Like the way Muriz thrives is like a response to my awkward cuddling with it (no, not that awkward!)
Whilst I was reading and browsing information about Schizophrenia before, I remember finding out that even that is a trait. Talking to one's plants. Now I'm sure they don't mean "here you go, I have some fresh water for you" kinda talk, but believe me when I say my chatting is vastly more complicated than that. I vary from expressing my admiration of its beauty to telling it jokes and talking to it about how my day has been.
No, I've never doubted that I'm utterly insane, but as of lately it's been almost creeping me out just how much that terrible illness fits me. Always finding out that I experience yet another symptom, finding connections from or to other things in my past or present, and seeing as I more and more fall into weird beliefs and losing my grip on reality. It's like the puzzle of my life is finally starting to connect.
My ivy is just getting bigger and greener every day it seems. I gave it a name and I'm talking it to it as if the plant was a pet. "Muriz", and no it has no particular gender. It is a plant after all. I even stroke its leaves and carefully hug it sometimes. I think maybe my love and care somehow affects it, cause I've never seen ivy's grow and shine like this one before, with leaves bigger than my palms. I've only had it a few months and it's at least twice as big now, and every single leaf is fresh and vividly green.
It doesn't seem to be at all bothered by the cigarette smoke either, which I find rather remarkable, since it can get pretty damn smoky in here sometimes and it almost looks like I'm suddenly in Silent Hill: foggy with ash swirling around.
I suppose me not being able to have pets on my own kinda sparked an interest in plants, as I feel comfort knowing I'm not the only thing alive in this solitude.
So at least I have some form of company, if you could call it that. And I don't feel so alone when I just turn around from the computer and talk to my green, rather quiet room mate. Now I do realise the level of craziness to this, but it almost kinda feels like we're actually communicating in a way. Like the way Muriz thrives is like a response to my awkward cuddling with it (no, not that awkward!)
Whilst I was reading and browsing information about Schizophrenia before, I remember finding out that even that is a trait. Talking to one's plants. Now I'm sure they don't mean "here you go, I have some fresh water for you" kinda talk, but believe me when I say my chatting is vastly more complicated than that. I vary from expressing my admiration of its beauty to telling it jokes and talking to it about how my day has been.
No, I've never doubted that I'm utterly insane, but as of lately it's been almost creeping me out just how much that terrible illness fits me. Always finding out that I experience yet another symptom, finding connections from or to other things in my past or present, and seeing as I more and more fall into weird beliefs and losing my grip on reality. It's like the puzzle of my life is finally starting to connect.
Friday, 22 November 2013
Living with it
Everything is so frustrating in my life now. Like everything is just a game and nothing ever goes my way. I stop for a second and ask myself: is it even worth fighting for? It feels like I know everything will keep on falling apart and that will lead me to my final suicide attempt. But right now, as far as I know, I hope that will happen as far away in the future as possible.
If I can learn to enjoy, truly enjoy suffering and misery, maybe I actually can enjoy this life. My dark, twisted fairytale. My dystopian paradise. Don't just learn how to survive in constant pain, don't just learn how to live with it and deal with it, learn how to like it. To smile when my head hurts so much I can't even get out of bed, giggle when society takes away my rights as the human being I try to be, laugh when my heart breaks into pieces. Embrace the darkness.
I guess I'm just having one of those days, huh? Is it worth fighting for? I don't know, I don't care, I'll be here until the end whether I fight or not, won't I? That long last end that will be the light at the end of the tunnel. At least I have something to look forward to. And I have been looking forward to it since I was six years old, when I still pinched myself in the arm to try to wake up from this nightmare. But I know now that even nightmares can be real.
Really, what's up with me today!? Seem to be a little out of shape, mentally. Oh, by the way, I've made a decision regarding my sleep-shit: this time I will reach one hundred hours of total sleep deprivation and no more or less. After that there will be no more of this. I've already passed fifty hours, less than half left!
Fuck this insane game, fuck self harm and fuck hypnophobia. I need a vacation from this chaos. I am in control of my life and particularly my body. I'm breaking the habit, or at least I'm gonna try. Maybe the imbeciles at the psych-ward can help me if all else fails. I'm just so tired of this, wanting nothing but least of all this.
And that sums up everything, doesn't it? I want nothing, but least of all I want what is tearing me apart at the moment. Existing is making me cranky today. I haven't eaten anything since yesterday and food sickens me. Maybe I'll go buy some more nutrition shakes, at least that's something.
If I can learn to enjoy, truly enjoy suffering and misery, maybe I actually can enjoy this life. My dark, twisted fairytale. My dystopian paradise. Don't just learn how to survive in constant pain, don't just learn how to live with it and deal with it, learn how to like it. To smile when my head hurts so much I can't even get out of bed, giggle when society takes away my rights as the human being I try to be, laugh when my heart breaks into pieces. Embrace the darkness.
I guess I'm just having one of those days, huh? Is it worth fighting for? I don't know, I don't care, I'll be here until the end whether I fight or not, won't I? That long last end that will be the light at the end of the tunnel. At least I have something to look forward to. And I have been looking forward to it since I was six years old, when I still pinched myself in the arm to try to wake up from this nightmare. But I know now that even nightmares can be real.
Really, what's up with me today!? Seem to be a little out of shape, mentally. Oh, by the way, I've made a decision regarding my sleep-shit: this time I will reach one hundred hours of total sleep deprivation and no more or less. After that there will be no more of this. I've already passed fifty hours, less than half left!
Fuck this insane game, fuck self harm and fuck hypnophobia. I need a vacation from this chaos. I am in control of my life and particularly my body. I'm breaking the habit, or at least I'm gonna try. Maybe the imbeciles at the psych-ward can help me if all else fails. I'm just so tired of this, wanting nothing but least of all this.
And that sums up everything, doesn't it? I want nothing, but least of all I want what is tearing me apart at the moment. Existing is making me cranky today. I haven't eaten anything since yesterday and food sickens me. Maybe I'll go buy some more nutrition shakes, at least that's something.
Hopes and hopelessness
I had a meeting with my psychiatrist today, and she said she'd call the hospital in Huddinge to try and find out what's going on over there. Cause I haven't heard as much as a whisper since I was there in August and I've been climbing on the walls for quite a while now. The worst is not the waiting, it's not knowing how long I should be waiting for. It's not certain she'll reach the right person over the phone, or if they would tell her anything, or if they even have anything to tell her. Worth a try though.
It's like I'm playing "catch me if you can" with sleep itself. Making the frightening chase into a chaotic, potentially dangerous, self destructive game. A competition of hours, another obsession, a fucking achievement.
Though, it lets me think of something else, focus my mind off my main obsession for a little while. My crush. Cause thinking of him is getting more and more painful each passing day. Knowing that he's so far away both literally and figuratively makes it harder and harder to cope, as I'm slowly realising how impossible my dreams are. I knew this would happen sooner or later, I just wished it could have been later.
This sadness is growing bigger inside me. A little more today than it was yesterday, and it was more yesterday than the day before that. It's a heavy, calm sadness like a soft dark veil swept over my face. Not the brutal, numbing sadness that brings endless amounts of tears and low self esteem. Though I do cry quite a lot, but only when provoked and often while watching a movie or reading something sad. Like twenty times a day... I also isolate more, cause I don't want to face the world outside.
I look at the world with more gloomy eyes, a bitter frown at the colours of the nature around the corner. I smile a fake smile when someone points out a cute animal before my eyes, as dark thoughts ravage my head and I couldn't care less about the creature. I have to bite my tongue to not let out all of my negative thoughts and pessimistic views on my so called future.
Cause I need for people to know that I still keep my hopes up, it's just that I can't express them any longer. For what I hope for and what I believe will happen isn't the same thing.
It's like I'm playing "catch me if you can" with sleep itself. Making the frightening chase into a chaotic, potentially dangerous, self destructive game. A competition of hours, another obsession, a fucking achievement.
Though, it lets me think of something else, focus my mind off my main obsession for a little while. My crush. Cause thinking of him is getting more and more painful each passing day. Knowing that he's so far away both literally and figuratively makes it harder and harder to cope, as I'm slowly realising how impossible my dreams are. I knew this would happen sooner or later, I just wished it could have been later.
This sadness is growing bigger inside me. A little more today than it was yesterday, and it was more yesterday than the day before that. It's a heavy, calm sadness like a soft dark veil swept over my face. Not the brutal, numbing sadness that brings endless amounts of tears and low self esteem. Though I do cry quite a lot, but only when provoked and often while watching a movie or reading something sad. Like twenty times a day... I also isolate more, cause I don't want to face the world outside.
I look at the world with more gloomy eyes, a bitter frown at the colours of the nature around the corner. I smile a fake smile when someone points out a cute animal before my eyes, as dark thoughts ravage my head and I couldn't care less about the creature. I have to bite my tongue to not let out all of my negative thoughts and pessimistic views on my so called future.
Cause I need for people to know that I still keep my hopes up, it's just that I can't express them any longer. For what I hope for and what I believe will happen isn't the same thing.
Thursday, 21 November 2013
Addicted to writing
I don't know if something is particularly wrong with my view on life in general, but whenever I come across someone saying that "life is too short" I just wanna tell them that life is too damn long! Probably my hint of a depression talking again, but still. What is this to cling to? What is it people in general like about life and living? I'm just doing it cause I might as well, while I'm here, you know. It's always been like that, at my best. At my worst I'm suicidal and just wanna snuff it out as soon as possible.
Oh well, here I am complaining about the brimstone and fires of hell again. Or is this me trying to see the light in the dark? Cause I say that I might as well stick around, I mean. It's hard to know sometimes, when it's black and white at the same time. They're kinda hard to separate sometimes. It's probably ambivalence again, that I want to live at the same time as I don't. Wanna find that third option again. Cause most of the time there really isn't a third option. You either live or die, eat or starve, sleep or awake, giving up or giving in. There's no in between, just this or that, take your pick.
I wish there was something else. Something more, or less of it. Feels like I'm missing something. Did I misplace a thought somewhere? I think I lost it, forgot it and put it somewhere, and now I can't find it.
This music is fucking me up. "How to disappear completely" by Radiohead. It's so sad and brings out emotions I didn't think I had. Like standing on a deserted beach in a cold night, between summer and autumn. The water is so still, everything is dead around you. The cold wind pulls your hair, you're shivering and all alone with a broken heart. Like the wind is taking all your dreams and hopes with it, and you're empty, lost and cold.
I feel too much for one human being. Why can't Anna do her job and help me carry some of this shit? She's supposed to be my own personal, emotional guardian and care taker. It's a little heavy here, help me carry a little? I mean we are two people sharing this body and mind, so why should I have to feel so much when she doesn't? I have no idea how this works, since I don't know anyone else in this position, but is that really too much to ask of?
What good does all this writing do? It such a waste and I think it makes me feel even worse. "Good therapy to write about your feelings" says the cheerful people who expect me to be wired like everyone else. But I end up comparing my anxiety to the whole world, and my writing has turned into an obsessive addiction. You see this? All this text I publish? You should see my desktop with eight open note pad documents filled with this nonsense cause I can't stop writing. I can literally go on for hours and hours just writing about everything that comes to my mind. Then maybe you can grasp just how cluttered my mind is. I can't write it all down, my fingers don't move that fast across the keyboard. I can't even shower without getting frustrated over not being able to write down my thoughts.
How is it even possible to get addicted to writing? Beats me. I seem to be able to get addicted to basically anything in the world. things that aren't addictive, things that most people just do without putting much thought into it. Now see, there is a huge fucking problem! Others don't put much thought into it. I do. I put so damn much thought into fucking everything and more. I turn it inside out and upside down, analyse every little detail, dissect it and x-ray it until it resembles nothing at all. Of course I can get addicted to writing!
All my life I've been obsessed with communication. With my family, friends, boyfriends, myself, Anna, voices, teachers, strangers, care takers, doctors, shrinks and so on. What better way to communicate than writing, in today's society?
I'd better stop now, while I can... By the way, I've had 15 cups of tea and 45 cigarettes today, or well, from 9:30 Wednesday morning
Oh well, here I am complaining about the brimstone and fires of hell again. Or is this me trying to see the light in the dark? Cause I say that I might as well stick around, I mean. It's hard to know sometimes, when it's black and white at the same time. They're kinda hard to separate sometimes. It's probably ambivalence again, that I want to live at the same time as I don't. Wanna find that third option again. Cause most of the time there really isn't a third option. You either live or die, eat or starve, sleep or awake, giving up or giving in. There's no in between, just this or that, take your pick.
I wish there was something else. Something more, or less of it. Feels like I'm missing something. Did I misplace a thought somewhere? I think I lost it, forgot it and put it somewhere, and now I can't find it.
This music is fucking me up. "How to disappear completely" by Radiohead. It's so sad and brings out emotions I didn't think I had. Like standing on a deserted beach in a cold night, between summer and autumn. The water is so still, everything is dead around you. The cold wind pulls your hair, you're shivering and all alone with a broken heart. Like the wind is taking all your dreams and hopes with it, and you're empty, lost and cold.
I feel too much for one human being. Why can't Anna do her job and help me carry some of this shit? She's supposed to be my own personal, emotional guardian and care taker. It's a little heavy here, help me carry a little? I mean we are two people sharing this body and mind, so why should I have to feel so much when she doesn't? I have no idea how this works, since I don't know anyone else in this position, but is that really too much to ask of?
What good does all this writing do? It such a waste and I think it makes me feel even worse. "Good therapy to write about your feelings" says the cheerful people who expect me to be wired like everyone else. But I end up comparing my anxiety to the whole world, and my writing has turned into an obsessive addiction. You see this? All this text I publish? You should see my desktop with eight open note pad documents filled with this nonsense cause I can't stop writing. I can literally go on for hours and hours just writing about everything that comes to my mind. Then maybe you can grasp just how cluttered my mind is. I can't write it all down, my fingers don't move that fast across the keyboard. I can't even shower without getting frustrated over not being able to write down my thoughts.
How is it even possible to get addicted to writing? Beats me. I seem to be able to get addicted to basically anything in the world. things that aren't addictive, things that most people just do without putting much thought into it. Now see, there is a huge fucking problem! Others don't put much thought into it. I do. I put so damn much thought into fucking everything and more. I turn it inside out and upside down, analyse every little detail, dissect it and x-ray it until it resembles nothing at all. Of course I can get addicted to writing!
All my life I've been obsessed with communication. With my family, friends, boyfriends, myself, Anna, voices, teachers, strangers, care takers, doctors, shrinks and so on. What better way to communicate than writing, in today's society?
I'd better stop now, while I can... By the way, I've had 15 cups of tea and 45 cigarettes today, or well, from 9:30 Wednesday morning
Moments of clarity
My heart is hurting, it feels like my heart hurts. And I don't even know why, it's just painful. Yeah, maybe I do know why, but it's easier to escape it, easier to just run away from it. But I try not to. Just stay here, indulge in the pain and let it hurt me. Let it tear me to pieces.
I don't know why I think I should stay in the emotion, but maybe a part of me wants me to suffer. Be torn to pieces over and over until there won't be any excuses left. No reasons to pretend, no lies left to cover it up. The so very real, bleeding truth revealing. Taking over everything. Making true everything that I believe in, showing the real fucked me that I've been trying to humanise. For I am not human and I will never be. My false hopes of just being totally damaged falls apart and I realise once again that this is not only what I've become, but what I've always been.
Sure I have the typical traits of a human being, but just look at me. There are too many contradictions and impossibilities to look past. Things about me that just shouldn't be possible, yet they are. I believe in what I am in my days of clarity, and I accept that I'm different beyond reason, cause I know why I am here. I have discovered the answer to one of the most mysterious questions humans have asked themselves since the dawn of time. I know why I am here, my purpose, the meaning of my life.
But it brings me no comfort, no happiness or joy. I believe that I hold all the answers to all the questions I carry, but answers alone has never brought me anything. A great discovery is only great in the moment you discover it. Then you sit there and ask yourself "And? So what, what does it even matter? How does this change anything?"
For the path you are meant to follow is the path you are already walking.
The question about the meaning of life is thrilling, mysterious and alluring. But the answer is simple, stupid and disappointing. It's like the question of what makes the world so beautiful and harmonic? And the answer is just a bunch of numbers. Or how do you learn to live with anxiety, depression, phobias, sleep disorders and the like? Simply let go. The answer is expected to be astonishing, thought provoking and marvellous. And all there is, is something you shrug at. A disappointment.
I ask myself "was it even worth it?" all those years of searching for my purpose. No... or maybe it was, I don't know. But it certainly was a disappointment. Much like most people I expected something amazing, something that would change my life or at least my view on life. But if I know so much, what really is my purpose? To know more. What kind of idea of a joke is that!? The message is simply that I can never get enough knowledge and understanding, and I'm here to fill in the gaps. I hate and can't stand humans, yet I'm here to understand them. To live among them and learn as much as I can about them.
Cause what if you don't like what the great beyond has set out for you? What if you don't want to walk that path, and there's no way to escape it? It's the fucking meaning of your life, it is why you are here. Would you really want to know? Would you...?
Cause I hate my fucking purpose.
I don't know why I think I should stay in the emotion, but maybe a part of me wants me to suffer. Be torn to pieces over and over until there won't be any excuses left. No reasons to pretend, no lies left to cover it up. The so very real, bleeding truth revealing. Taking over everything. Making true everything that I believe in, showing the real fucked me that I've been trying to humanise. For I am not human and I will never be. My false hopes of just being totally damaged falls apart and I realise once again that this is not only what I've become, but what I've always been.
Sure I have the typical traits of a human being, but just look at me. There are too many contradictions and impossibilities to look past. Things about me that just shouldn't be possible, yet they are. I believe in what I am in my days of clarity, and I accept that I'm different beyond reason, cause I know why I am here. I have discovered the answer to one of the most mysterious questions humans have asked themselves since the dawn of time. I know why I am here, my purpose, the meaning of my life.
But it brings me no comfort, no happiness or joy. I believe that I hold all the answers to all the questions I carry, but answers alone has never brought me anything. A great discovery is only great in the moment you discover it. Then you sit there and ask yourself "And? So what, what does it even matter? How does this change anything?"
For the path you are meant to follow is the path you are already walking.
The question about the meaning of life is thrilling, mysterious and alluring. But the answer is simple, stupid and disappointing. It's like the question of what makes the world so beautiful and harmonic? And the answer is just a bunch of numbers. Or how do you learn to live with anxiety, depression, phobias, sleep disorders and the like? Simply let go. The answer is expected to be astonishing, thought provoking and marvellous. And all there is, is something you shrug at. A disappointment.
I ask myself "was it even worth it?" all those years of searching for my purpose. No... or maybe it was, I don't know. But it certainly was a disappointment. Much like most people I expected something amazing, something that would change my life or at least my view on life. But if I know so much, what really is my purpose? To know more. What kind of idea of a joke is that!? The message is simply that I can never get enough knowledge and understanding, and I'm here to fill in the gaps. I hate and can't stand humans, yet I'm here to understand them. To live among them and learn as much as I can about them.
Cause what if you don't like what the great beyond has set out for you? What if you don't want to walk that path, and there's no way to escape it? It's the fucking meaning of your life, it is why you are here. Would you really want to know? Would you...?
Cause I hate my fucking purpose.
Wednesday, 20 November 2013
Accustomed to the dark
I think I'm starting to tackle my caffeine habit, as of drinking tea instead of coffee and taking less of them pills. A lot of tea though. Don't know how many cups a day, but I've been awake for two and a half hours now and had 3 already. Small cups, but still. Cause if I fill up a big cup, I end up forgetting it halfway through and leaving it cold, throwing away what is left. It's also a good way to keep warm. It's not cold in here, but I still feel cold.
I took a day off again and slept for 26 hours, so I missed yesterday. Going for those 100 hours this time instead. The crew woke me up at half past nine and asked me if I wanted to get up. I told them the truth, that I never want to get out of bed and I never want to go to bed. I think that is why I do this, staying awake for days and days in a row, and then sleeping for a whole day or more. I don't want to sleep, just as much as I don't want to be awake.
I feel depressed, but I know that I'm not clinically depressed. If I was I wouldn't sit her and write. I would still be in bed, not eating, not caring about anything. I wouldn't laugh or smile or appreciate a cup of tea. Besides, antidepressants don't work on me, and I only take Mirtazapin for its sedative effects. I've tried Sertralin (Zoloft), Fluoxetin, Venlafaxin, Efexor and Cymbalta. That is basically everything except for Anafranil and those really old ones.
But yeah, I do feel depressed. In the sense that I don't want to wake up or go to bed, that I shut myself out from the world, have lack of inspiration for doing anything creative. I miss my creativity above all else. I can put up with this lack of a circadian rhythm (there really isn't a rhythm, only a chaotic and completely out of control sleeping pattern), but not being able to draw, sew or write anything else than diary and blog entries really bugs me.
I feel lifeless. Just withering away. Am I giving up on life? Just letting misery swallow me whole. Just eating to stop my stomach from growling, sleeping cause I finally give up on trying to stay awake, getting out of bed cause I finally give up on trying to sleep, sitting by my computer all days and nights long because I have no will to do anything real. Escaping life by doing nothing, I'm neither dead or alive. Just surviving, breathing, complaining, dreaming. I've lost my will to live, but I have no will to die.
But I still cling to life, cause deep down I do want to live. I just don't know how. Have no energy to even give it a try. Afraid of failure, of being hurt and becoming even more miserable on the way. I'm comfortable in this mess, grown accustomed to the darkness, yet I'm not satisfied with it. I want so much more, but tired of fighting. Just waiting for my motivation to arise again. Just waiting.
I took a day off again and slept for 26 hours, so I missed yesterday. Going for those 100 hours this time instead. The crew woke me up at half past nine and asked me if I wanted to get up. I told them the truth, that I never want to get out of bed and I never want to go to bed. I think that is why I do this, staying awake for days and days in a row, and then sleeping for a whole day or more. I don't want to sleep, just as much as I don't want to be awake.
I feel depressed, but I know that I'm not clinically depressed. If I was I wouldn't sit her and write. I would still be in bed, not eating, not caring about anything. I wouldn't laugh or smile or appreciate a cup of tea. Besides, antidepressants don't work on me, and I only take Mirtazapin for its sedative effects. I've tried Sertralin (Zoloft), Fluoxetin, Venlafaxin, Efexor and Cymbalta. That is basically everything except for Anafranil and those really old ones.
But yeah, I do feel depressed. In the sense that I don't want to wake up or go to bed, that I shut myself out from the world, have lack of inspiration for doing anything creative. I miss my creativity above all else. I can put up with this lack of a circadian rhythm (there really isn't a rhythm, only a chaotic and completely out of control sleeping pattern), but not being able to draw, sew or write anything else than diary and blog entries really bugs me.
I feel lifeless. Just withering away. Am I giving up on life? Just letting misery swallow me whole. Just eating to stop my stomach from growling, sleeping cause I finally give up on trying to stay awake, getting out of bed cause I finally give up on trying to sleep, sitting by my computer all days and nights long because I have no will to do anything real. Escaping life by doing nothing, I'm neither dead or alive. Just surviving, breathing, complaining, dreaming. I've lost my will to live, but I have no will to die.
But I still cling to life, cause deep down I do want to live. I just don't know how. Have no energy to even give it a try. Afraid of failure, of being hurt and becoming even more miserable on the way. I'm comfortable in this mess, grown accustomed to the darkness, yet I'm not satisfied with it. I want so much more, but tired of fighting. Just waiting for my motivation to arise again. Just waiting.
Tuesday, 19 November 2013
Falling for you is like falling to pieces
I feel like shit, for various private reasons. I would like to write about it, the specific reason, but I can't take the risk. So I write about how shitty I feel instead. But isn't that just the typical me? Constantly ventilating, because I don't really want anyone's opinions, just want people to know. But isn't that hypocritical in a way? I dunno. Sometimes I think it doesn't matter if I write it here or in my paper diary.
I've become more careful with what I choose to make public, maybe you've noticed. That there are more secrets now. Mostly cause I don't want anyone to find out who it is that I'm in love with. It sort of goes against my morals to tell everyone except for the person it actually concerns. And I can't tell him, cause that would spoil everything. Or it could, I can't know for sure of course.
I shouldn't give up, should keep on waiting, it's not too late yet, it's not... but it feels that way. My god, has it already been this long? Six months ago I was nervous about congratulating him on his birthday, and now... Well, time passes, but I didn't think I'd still be sitting here waiting, after all this time. Still clinging to dying hopes, patching up cracking dreams, repeating the same wishes, stepping on the same "K-wells" but it's fading away. I can feel it fading away. He's getting further out of reach, even more unavailable, and my days of hopelessness are becoming more and more frequent.
I cry almost every day. Cry and cut and cry. Write, but I have no words to write. It's just this. Meaningless scribbles that's been typed over and over and it never means anything. I've lost the spark in my words, lost the belief that they actually mean something. What the hell kind of writer am I then? If I don't even believe in my own words?
Everything seem to revolve around him now. Depending on what he writes or says or does is so strongly affecting my mood, my thoughts, my deeds, my life. It's like I can't exist without him. Yet he's not even mine. Not even breathing the same air, speaking to me, hearing me, seeing me. He's not actually here. It feels like I'm depending on a ghost, I'm on life support and his ghost is keeping me alive.
I seriously don't know what would happen the day I lose the grip of my dreams, hopes and wishes about him. I think I would disintegrate. That I will once again relive all that agony, insufferable inner pain of being heartbroken. I think it will happen soon. Sooner than I can afford. Way too soon. Within months, perhaps only weeks. It's already been six months, I realise. For six months I've been pining for him. Maybe longer, but my diaries don't contain any useful information.
I tried to deny my feelings for him for some time, and it wasn't until late July that I let myself fall for him. But I was already in love, already in June, but perhaps even earlier. Yup, found a picture of him on my computer saved there the 31st of May. So then it's seven months. For seven months I've been pining for him.
For all this time... I'm surprised I didn't reach this state sooner. Total devotion. It stings inside me, for I hate falling in love. I truly, most utterly hate being in love.
Why can't I feel love like everyone else does? Fall for someone who falls for you, not lose yourself completely over an acquaintance you hardly even know, not wanting to kill yourself because you don't stand a chance with the person you're so painfully in love with, for someone who barely even knows your name.
I don't want to feel love like this. It's not right, it's wrong in so many places I don't know where to begin. If this pushes me over the edge, and I start planning my own death again, maybe I'll tell him someday. Tell him that I love him so damn much, no words can describe it.
In my mind I have told him a million times, in different words every time. But it's not gonna be the same in reality. No matter how many ways I can think of saying it, reality always turns out differently. Someone once told me that "if you can imagine something, it is more likely to actually happen". I hope that is true, cause I've already imagined up a whole relationship with him.
I've become more careful with what I choose to make public, maybe you've noticed. That there are more secrets now. Mostly cause I don't want anyone to find out who it is that I'm in love with. It sort of goes against my morals to tell everyone except for the person it actually concerns. And I can't tell him, cause that would spoil everything. Or it could, I can't know for sure of course.
I shouldn't give up, should keep on waiting, it's not too late yet, it's not... but it feels that way. My god, has it already been this long? Six months ago I was nervous about congratulating him on his birthday, and now... Well, time passes, but I didn't think I'd still be sitting here waiting, after all this time. Still clinging to dying hopes, patching up cracking dreams, repeating the same wishes, stepping on the same "K-wells" but it's fading away. I can feel it fading away. He's getting further out of reach, even more unavailable, and my days of hopelessness are becoming more and more frequent.
I cry almost every day. Cry and cut and cry. Write, but I have no words to write. It's just this. Meaningless scribbles that's been typed over and over and it never means anything. I've lost the spark in my words, lost the belief that they actually mean something. What the hell kind of writer am I then? If I don't even believe in my own words?
Everything seem to revolve around him now. Depending on what he writes or says or does is so strongly affecting my mood, my thoughts, my deeds, my life. It's like I can't exist without him. Yet he's not even mine. Not even breathing the same air, speaking to me, hearing me, seeing me. He's not actually here. It feels like I'm depending on a ghost, I'm on life support and his ghost is keeping me alive.
I seriously don't know what would happen the day I lose the grip of my dreams, hopes and wishes about him. I think I would disintegrate. That I will once again relive all that agony, insufferable inner pain of being heartbroken. I think it will happen soon. Sooner than I can afford. Way too soon. Within months, perhaps only weeks. It's already been six months, I realise. For six months I've been pining for him. Maybe longer, but my diaries don't contain any useful information.
I tried to deny my feelings for him for some time, and it wasn't until late July that I let myself fall for him. But I was already in love, already in June, but perhaps even earlier. Yup, found a picture of him on my computer saved there the 31st of May. So then it's seven months. For seven months I've been pining for him.
For all this time... I'm surprised I didn't reach this state sooner. Total devotion. It stings inside me, for I hate falling in love. I truly, most utterly hate being in love.
Why can't I feel love like everyone else does? Fall for someone who falls for you, not lose yourself completely over an acquaintance you hardly even know, not wanting to kill yourself because you don't stand a chance with the person you're so painfully in love with, for someone who barely even knows your name.
I don't want to feel love like this. It's not right, it's wrong in so many places I don't know where to begin. If this pushes me over the edge, and I start planning my own death again, maybe I'll tell him someday. Tell him that I love him so damn much, no words can describe it.
In my mind I have told him a million times, in different words every time. But it's not gonna be the same in reality. No matter how many ways I can think of saying it, reality always turns out differently. Someone once told me that "if you can imagine something, it is more likely to actually happen". I hope that is true, cause I've already imagined up a whole relationship with him.
The happiness I've never known
Why was I never happy, not even in my early childhood? Of all the things I envy from other people, I most of all envy that no matter how sad or happy they are now, they were happy once before. What do I know of happiness? I've never felt it, never been able to reach out and touch it with my finger tips, never even seen it in the distance. I've heard others talk about it, seen other experience it, showing their happiness to the world.
Now I'm not talking about that fairy tale sort of happiness, I'm talking about the every day kind of happiness. Getting up in the morning and not wanting to just stay in the bed forever every day of your life. Having dinner with your loved ones without thinking about your past or future suicide attempts. Going for a night out with your best friends without five minutes later sneaking in to the bathroom to cut yourself. Being able to stay in a moment of happiness, it might last for hours or just a few minutes, without constantly feeling the darkness hanging over you. Cause I wonder what that is like.
Sometimes I dream, fantasise about what a happy life could be like. A normal life with a tolerable amount of anxiety. But the thing is, I don't fit into that picture. I end up fantasising about someone else's life.
The thing is, not a day goes by without me thinking about suicide. Not just about doing it, and rarely any actual plans. Most it's just vague things. Like pictures flashing by, and I don't even know if it's me in those pictures. I make associations to suicide from movies and tv-show episodes that really aren't depicting suicide. For example, some character might talk about being thirsty, and I instantly start thinking about what killing yourself by drowning could be like. Or I could just be smoking a cigarette, one of those 40 something a day, and wonder if I could kill myself just by smoking in my bed.
The thought creeps in at any given moment, several times a day, hardly with me knowing it before hand. Anything, absolutely anything can make me start thinking about it. I'm trying to figure out when this started. But I think that it's always been this way, just more often the older I've gotten. I think it increased after my first suicide attempt, in January 2005. The first time I really wanted to kill myself I was 12, so that might have been when these thoughts started, but the topic had been on my mind far before that. I was the suicidal child that no one took seriously. Well, at such an early age as 6 I had no idea how to even go through with it. I didn't know what was lethal or not. That took some time to figure out.
I really didn't figure that out until just a few years ago. Of course I knew the principles long before that, but it wasn't until I was maybe 20 or 21 that I found out just how deep you need to cut, or just how big an overdose it's required.
Apart from me being suicidal like forever, I haven't always been unhappy in it's general term. Just tormented. I've had too much on my mind, too many feelings in my heart, too much longing in my soul. I think that maybe my memories of Dala has made me an unhappy person. That clinging to them, wishing I had never come here, always comparing Dala to this world, has made me incapable of truly enjoying anything in this life. Cause no matter how good things are, they were always better in Dala.
Yes, I have thought about that before. Even wished that I could take it all away, all those memories and start over without them. I don't wish for Dala to never have happened, I just wish that my reincarnation was more like other people's reincarnations: without any memories of it. Cause I think that then I wouldn't have had something so much better to compare with. Then I would have given this life a chance.
Cause that has been a problem. I never gave this life even the slightest bit of a chance. Ever since I discovered about my reincarnation, somewhere around age 4 to 6, I can't remember before 5-6, but my mother told me about my first suicidal thoughts at the age of 4. Ever since then all I wanted was to throw this life away. For somehow I discovered that by dying I would be able to return to my "real home" as I said back then.
A thing my mother told me just the other day or so, about a "Monroe Institute". A guy that remembered a past life much like mine. He described it as our (human kind) place of creation, our first home, where we all come from. A place of perfection and harmony. Well, just hearing about another person remembering what could most likely be the exact same place, kinda blew my mind! He's dead now, unfortunately, but I've been meaning to check out that website my mother mentioned.
I still cling to Dala, but as of lately I've been trying to let go. It feels like I need to let go in order to grasp this life that I'm living right now. Trying not to think about it so much, trying to move on. I should of course have done that many years ago, but it's so close to my heart, it's like it is every essence of my soul. And my soul is screaming, yearning, aching, bleeding to return. It's hard to ignore those heart tearing wishes that's been solely the number one reason for almost all of my suicide attempts. And I don't even know if I'll be able to return.
That is how strong those feelings can be, so strong that I'm sometimes ready to just throw away this life forever, even though I don't know if I would return to Dala. 50/50 and I take the bet, sort of. But most of the time, all that long time between suicide attempts, I don't want to take that chance. However, that is how strongly I still cling to Dala. Ready to kill myself for a childhood fantasy land.
So there was where it all started, so young that my very first memories hadstarted to take form. I shut myself away from the world, didn't want to be a part of it. It was a pretty good defence mechanism as I was bullied from my first year of school. I was antisocial, hated humanity and didn't want so called friends. I liked to keep my distance, until I started to like my future best friend. Realising she was one of few who didn't hate me, one of few who wanted to hang out with me.
I don't know for sure if she was the one who brought me out of my bubble, or if I just invited her into it. Maybe bits of both, cause when I started to train karate in a different town I really had started to crawl out from that bubble. And that was also when I first started to let go of Dala. I don't remember feeling unhappy in my 7th grade, maybe that was as close to happy as I've ever been. Before things started to fall apart again.
It's really gone up and down since then, but mostly down. I wasn't comparing so much with Dala as of what I can remember, didn't wanna think about it. Life fucked me over, but it wasn't because of my way absent past. I had lost faith in myself a long time ago, and almost invited bad people into my life. I'd rather something bad happened than nothing at all. Yes, I remember saying that when I was 14 or 15, and I'm not saying any of the horrible things I went through was my own fault. I'm mostly thinking about the rape, but not exclusively. I've never blamed myself for his despicable deed, but was it entirely on him?
I'm just saying that if I was confident and even cared about protecting myself, it's likely it never would have happened.
I was skilled in self defence and had been warned about creeps like him and that exact situation. Don't follow strange men home. Yet I did. It was even my own suggestion. It was like I didn't even care, like I invited it. But then it all went wrong of course, or it would have been a one night stand instead of a rape. But I did have it in the back of my mind. I did have it in the back of my mind already in the moment I asked if we could go to his place. I thought that there was a risk of rape if I went home with him. That's what I'm talking about. So it's not my fault that he raped me, but it's very much my own bloody fault that I ended up in his apartment. I'm smiling about this, so don't worry. I can be an idiot sometimes and years later I'm smiling at my own dumb choices. Practically over it by now.
After that, of course, I fell some more into my despair. Just months later I ended up with my first actual boyfriend, and we were happy to begin with. I was in love, so very much in love, and he loved me too. I had never had that before, and sadly, never again after. But that happiness only lasted a few months before he also became one of those creeps I had been warned about. The manipulative kind of men who wants to literally own their partner. Decide what I should eat, wear, weigh, do and who I was allowed to see and not. It took several months for me to muster breaking up with him, thought he could change. And I broke his heart but he broke mine too.
Shortly after our break up I re-realised the transgender stuff and I don't know if that brought me up or down. There was too much going on already, but that realisation couldn't have come a day too early. But some things got harder, I had to defend myself and my human rights all the damn time and dating became a hell. But at least I was myself, I was finally true to myself.
Once again I end up summarising my whole life, as if I didn't know about it already. As if I could ever stop obsessing about my own tragic life. It hasn't only been bad, but the bad out weighs the good and the negative feelings have always been so much stronger. The hell that I've been through, the hell between me and Anna, the hell between me and the world around me. That even if I try my best and hardest I end up failing, I crash on the concrete aching and bleeding. But I don't give up.
For some reason, despite all the chaos and darkness, I still fight and try to do better next time. I know that if I search long enough I will find what I'm looking for. In the end, and in the long run that is what I truly believe. And I have nothing, absolutely nothing to support that belief. That's why I don't think that I'm depressed, and perhaps I never even was. It's something else, all the other negative emotions except for sadness.
A common misconception is that you have to be depressed if you truly want to kill yourself. It's not true. It is believed to be the most common reason for suicide, but not the one reason alone. I've got enough reason and more. Missing Dala, hating the person living inside my head day and night, lovesickness, feeling incomplete and broken, being stuck in a limbo, anxiety, hating my body and so on. I've got reasons, but I'm not depressed. I want to die, but I'm not unhappy, not overwhelmed with sadness.
Being happy isn't just about happiness. I don't think that just by adding something to my life, that would make me happy. I already have too much to carry, and I don't think I will ever get rid of any of that. That is why I don't think I will ever be happy. It's not about what I don't have, it's what I already have.
Now I'm not talking about that fairy tale sort of happiness, I'm talking about the every day kind of happiness. Getting up in the morning and not wanting to just stay in the bed forever every day of your life. Having dinner with your loved ones without thinking about your past or future suicide attempts. Going for a night out with your best friends without five minutes later sneaking in to the bathroom to cut yourself. Being able to stay in a moment of happiness, it might last for hours or just a few minutes, without constantly feeling the darkness hanging over you. Cause I wonder what that is like.
Sometimes I dream, fantasise about what a happy life could be like. A normal life with a tolerable amount of anxiety. But the thing is, I don't fit into that picture. I end up fantasising about someone else's life.
The thing is, not a day goes by without me thinking about suicide. Not just about doing it, and rarely any actual plans. Most it's just vague things. Like pictures flashing by, and I don't even know if it's me in those pictures. I make associations to suicide from movies and tv-show episodes that really aren't depicting suicide. For example, some character might talk about being thirsty, and I instantly start thinking about what killing yourself by drowning could be like. Or I could just be smoking a cigarette, one of those 40 something a day, and wonder if I could kill myself just by smoking in my bed.
The thought creeps in at any given moment, several times a day, hardly with me knowing it before hand. Anything, absolutely anything can make me start thinking about it. I'm trying to figure out when this started. But I think that it's always been this way, just more often the older I've gotten. I think it increased after my first suicide attempt, in January 2005. The first time I really wanted to kill myself I was 12, so that might have been when these thoughts started, but the topic had been on my mind far before that. I was the suicidal child that no one took seriously. Well, at such an early age as 6 I had no idea how to even go through with it. I didn't know what was lethal or not. That took some time to figure out.
I really didn't figure that out until just a few years ago. Of course I knew the principles long before that, but it wasn't until I was maybe 20 or 21 that I found out just how deep you need to cut, or just how big an overdose it's required.
Apart from me being suicidal like forever, I haven't always been unhappy in it's general term. Just tormented. I've had too much on my mind, too many feelings in my heart, too much longing in my soul. I think that maybe my memories of Dala has made me an unhappy person. That clinging to them, wishing I had never come here, always comparing Dala to this world, has made me incapable of truly enjoying anything in this life. Cause no matter how good things are, they were always better in Dala.
Yes, I have thought about that before. Even wished that I could take it all away, all those memories and start over without them. I don't wish for Dala to never have happened, I just wish that my reincarnation was more like other people's reincarnations: without any memories of it. Cause I think that then I wouldn't have had something so much better to compare with. Then I would have given this life a chance.
Cause that has been a problem. I never gave this life even the slightest bit of a chance. Ever since I discovered about my reincarnation, somewhere around age 4 to 6, I can't remember before 5-6, but my mother told me about my first suicidal thoughts at the age of 4. Ever since then all I wanted was to throw this life away. For somehow I discovered that by dying I would be able to return to my "real home" as I said back then.
A thing my mother told me just the other day or so, about a "Monroe Institute". A guy that remembered a past life much like mine. He described it as our (human kind) place of creation, our first home, where we all come from. A place of perfection and harmony. Well, just hearing about another person remembering what could most likely be the exact same place, kinda blew my mind! He's dead now, unfortunately, but I've been meaning to check out that website my mother mentioned.
I still cling to Dala, but as of lately I've been trying to let go. It feels like I need to let go in order to grasp this life that I'm living right now. Trying not to think about it so much, trying to move on. I should of course have done that many years ago, but it's so close to my heart, it's like it is every essence of my soul. And my soul is screaming, yearning, aching, bleeding to return. It's hard to ignore those heart tearing wishes that's been solely the number one reason for almost all of my suicide attempts. And I don't even know if I'll be able to return.
That is how strong those feelings can be, so strong that I'm sometimes ready to just throw away this life forever, even though I don't know if I would return to Dala. 50/50 and I take the bet, sort of. But most of the time, all that long time between suicide attempts, I don't want to take that chance. However, that is how strongly I still cling to Dala. Ready to kill myself for a childhood fantasy land.
So there was where it all started, so young that my very first memories hadstarted to take form. I shut myself away from the world, didn't want to be a part of it. It was a pretty good defence mechanism as I was bullied from my first year of school. I was antisocial, hated humanity and didn't want so called friends. I liked to keep my distance, until I started to like my future best friend. Realising she was one of few who didn't hate me, one of few who wanted to hang out with me.
I don't know for sure if she was the one who brought me out of my bubble, or if I just invited her into it. Maybe bits of both, cause when I started to train karate in a different town I really had started to crawl out from that bubble. And that was also when I first started to let go of Dala. I don't remember feeling unhappy in my 7th grade, maybe that was as close to happy as I've ever been. Before things started to fall apart again.
It's really gone up and down since then, but mostly down. I wasn't comparing so much with Dala as of what I can remember, didn't wanna think about it. Life fucked me over, but it wasn't because of my way absent past. I had lost faith in myself a long time ago, and almost invited bad people into my life. I'd rather something bad happened than nothing at all. Yes, I remember saying that when I was 14 or 15, and I'm not saying any of the horrible things I went through was my own fault. I'm mostly thinking about the rape, but not exclusively. I've never blamed myself for his despicable deed, but was it entirely on him?
I'm just saying that if I was confident and even cared about protecting myself, it's likely it never would have happened.
I was skilled in self defence and had been warned about creeps like him and that exact situation. Don't follow strange men home. Yet I did. It was even my own suggestion. It was like I didn't even care, like I invited it. But then it all went wrong of course, or it would have been a one night stand instead of a rape. But I did have it in the back of my mind. I did have it in the back of my mind already in the moment I asked if we could go to his place. I thought that there was a risk of rape if I went home with him. That's what I'm talking about. So it's not my fault that he raped me, but it's very much my own bloody fault that I ended up in his apartment. I'm smiling about this, so don't worry. I can be an idiot sometimes and years later I'm smiling at my own dumb choices. Practically over it by now.
After that, of course, I fell some more into my despair. Just months later I ended up with my first actual boyfriend, and we were happy to begin with. I was in love, so very much in love, and he loved me too. I had never had that before, and sadly, never again after. But that happiness only lasted a few months before he also became one of those creeps I had been warned about. The manipulative kind of men who wants to literally own their partner. Decide what I should eat, wear, weigh, do and who I was allowed to see and not. It took several months for me to muster breaking up with him, thought he could change. And I broke his heart but he broke mine too.
Shortly after our break up I re-realised the transgender stuff and I don't know if that brought me up or down. There was too much going on already, but that realisation couldn't have come a day too early. But some things got harder, I had to defend myself and my human rights all the damn time and dating became a hell. But at least I was myself, I was finally true to myself.
Once again I end up summarising my whole life, as if I didn't know about it already. As if I could ever stop obsessing about my own tragic life. It hasn't only been bad, but the bad out weighs the good and the negative feelings have always been so much stronger. The hell that I've been through, the hell between me and Anna, the hell between me and the world around me. That even if I try my best and hardest I end up failing, I crash on the concrete aching and bleeding. But I don't give up.
For some reason, despite all the chaos and darkness, I still fight and try to do better next time. I know that if I search long enough I will find what I'm looking for. In the end, and in the long run that is what I truly believe. And I have nothing, absolutely nothing to support that belief. That's why I don't think that I'm depressed, and perhaps I never even was. It's something else, all the other negative emotions except for sadness.
A common misconception is that you have to be depressed if you truly want to kill yourself. It's not true. It is believed to be the most common reason for suicide, but not the one reason alone. I've got enough reason and more. Missing Dala, hating the person living inside my head day and night, lovesickness, feeling incomplete and broken, being stuck in a limbo, anxiety, hating my body and so on. I've got reasons, but I'm not depressed. I want to die, but I'm not unhappy, not overwhelmed with sadness.
Being happy isn't just about happiness. I don't think that just by adding something to my life, that would make me happy. I already have too much to carry, and I don't think I will ever get rid of any of that. That is why I don't think I will ever be happy. It's not about what I don't have, it's what I already have.
Monday, 18 November 2013
I'm still counting
Eventually I fell asleep this time as well, some time after 3:00 am, early Sunday morning and I have slept from then until 11:00 today. By then I had been awake for 91 hours, almost 4 days. I'm not sure what made me crash this time, I usually don't see the reason. Perhaps the pain, confusion and tiredness just got too much to handle. It's hard to say. But I remember that I said "I can't do it any longer" just before I crashed. The last three or four hours were kinda awful.
I'm getting into a new state where being awake for 24 hours is just me "newly awakened"...
So this is my way of escaping it all. By counting hours, I escape my fear of sleep. It makes it easier to be awake, and it's easier to deal with when I can't keep awake any longer. Cause then, falling asleep is just "a minor setback" rather than feeling like the monster I've been running from just devoured me. It's easier to make being awake into an achievement of sleep deprivation, than to face my fear of sleep. So maybe I do want to break the world record as I know it, 11 days. Just slowly increasing the number of hours each time. Next goal? 100 hours. That means that I'll have to stay awake until 15:00 on Friday.
Gonna see my shrink that day. She's gonna hate me... whatever I tell her, it's hard to hide the fact that you've been awake for half a week. Make up, yeah... how about a face lift!
Need to go shopping today. Running out of food and cigarettes. That's really everything I spend money on these days.
I've forgotten how nice it felt: hate. No, it's probably not gone that far, or how to say it. But wanting to curse someone is a step on that way, eh?
There's something weird about a particular sweater of mine. It seems to keep me much warmer than it should be able to. It's just a knitted shirt, nothing special about it really. But in whatever temperature I happen to be, it keeps me just warm enough. Stupid of me to be scared of a fucking shirt... yet, this has to be due to something weird in my mind. I react differently on temperatures than normally.
It's like back in mid summer, when I could wear the exact same outfit for a week without being cold or too warm in everything from 10 to 30 degrees. I think I'm back there, in that state. I haven't figured out exactly what it is, but my mind is probably behind it. Not the clothes, not the thermometer. Though my instincts turn to those.
I'm getting into a new state where being awake for 24 hours is just me "newly awakened"...
So this is my way of escaping it all. By counting hours, I escape my fear of sleep. It makes it easier to be awake, and it's easier to deal with when I can't keep awake any longer. Cause then, falling asleep is just "a minor setback" rather than feeling like the monster I've been running from just devoured me. It's easier to make being awake into an achievement of sleep deprivation, than to face my fear of sleep. So maybe I do want to break the world record as I know it, 11 days. Just slowly increasing the number of hours each time. Next goal? 100 hours. That means that I'll have to stay awake until 15:00 on Friday.
Gonna see my shrink that day. She's gonna hate me... whatever I tell her, it's hard to hide the fact that you've been awake for half a week. Make up, yeah... how about a face lift!
Need to go shopping today. Running out of food and cigarettes. That's really everything I spend money on these days.
I've forgotten how nice it felt: hate. No, it's probably not gone that far, or how to say it. But wanting to curse someone is a step on that way, eh?
There's something weird about a particular sweater of mine. It seems to keep me much warmer than it should be able to. It's just a knitted shirt, nothing special about it really. But in whatever temperature I happen to be, it keeps me just warm enough. Stupid of me to be scared of a fucking shirt... yet, this has to be due to something weird in my mind. I react differently on temperatures than normally.
It's like back in mid summer, when I could wear the exact same outfit for a week without being cold or too warm in everything from 10 to 30 degrees. I think I'm back there, in that state. I haven't figured out exactly what it is, but my mind is probably behind it. Not the clothes, not the thermometer. Though my instincts turn to those.
Saturday, 16 November 2013
Warm in the cold
I'm trying out a new method for staying awake. Coldness. With windows open for a few hours I've gotten the temperature in my living room down to 14 degrees. Open my robe and take off a sweater. It's quite awful. I think it's working though. The shivering and shaking keeps me from dozing off, or rather being close to. I haven't actually dozed off yet.
I don't shiver, I don't feel cold at all. Just in my hands. I'm sitting in a t-shirt in 14 degrees, the November wind from outside blows in my face, and I don't feel anything, but warm. What's wrong with me? Is this even my body? Something changed, about two hours ago. I almost dozed off and got these weird images and phrases in my head, rapidly moving, as I was still aware of the waken world. I shook out of it, but after that the world felt different, looked different. It still does. Am I asleep? Is this some sort of dissociation? No... I broke my record, I've been up passed 80 hours. For real this time, no miscalculation. Who knows what the hell is going on with my mind, or why I can't feel cold at all when I should be freezing.
I've stopped feeling pain as well. That isn't a good sign either, but it's nice not to hurt any more. If it was winter right now, I bet I could have just walked outside wearing almost nothing and lied down in the snow. I would have, just to see if I could feel it. I don't feel tired either. Too weirded out to even notice such a trivial feeling as "tired" perhaps. I can't understand this, no matter how hard I try. I've pushed myself harder than ever before, and it has led me to a new place. Gotten off a station later with this train. I don't recognise myself, even in the mirror. There's something about my eyes, they look different. I can't really explain what it is I see. Some kind of tense darkness that I can't specify.
I don't shiver, I don't feel cold at all. Just in my hands. I'm sitting in a t-shirt in 14 degrees, the November wind from outside blows in my face, and I don't feel anything, but warm. What's wrong with me? Is this even my body? Something changed, about two hours ago. I almost dozed off and got these weird images and phrases in my head, rapidly moving, as I was still aware of the waken world. I shook out of it, but after that the world felt different, looked different. It still does. Am I asleep? Is this some sort of dissociation? No... I broke my record, I've been up passed 80 hours. For real this time, no miscalculation. Who knows what the hell is going on with my mind, or why I can't feel cold at all when I should be freezing.
I've stopped feeling pain as well. That isn't a good sign either, but it's nice not to hurt any more. If it was winter right now, I bet I could have just walked outside wearing almost nothing and lied down in the snow. I would have, just to see if I could feel it. I don't feel tired either. Too weirded out to even notice such a trivial feeling as "tired" perhaps. I can't understand this, no matter how hard I try. I've pushed myself harder than ever before, and it has led me to a new place. Gotten off a station later with this train. I don't recognise myself, even in the mirror. There's something about my eyes, they look different. I can't really explain what it is I see. Some kind of tense darkness that I can't specify.
The danger of love
It's been a busy night inside this tormented skull of mine. My lovesickness is taking turns for the worse, as I stated an hour or two ago in my paper diary: he, my love is starting to become my reason to live. He's reaching into my soul, slowly creating a place to permanently stay at within me. This... when it has finally gone that far, that's when lovesickness is becoming dangerous. But I believe that I'm "safer" this time because I have known already from the start that he's unavailable, that I really have no chance as of now or ever before now.
That's what broke my heart last time, but this is no guarantee at all, you should know. I could lose my hope of ever getting together with him in the future, or he could get engaged, or move far much further away like to another country. When I am at that point, the point when I only live for him and would die for him and my whole world completely revolves around him - basically anything, even the smallest little thing, could push me over the edge. The thin line between lovesickness and heartbreak.
Although heartbreak is perhaps not so obviously much worse, the pain and hopelessness is increased massively. Along with the feeling that I have lost my only reason to live. And that can happen in less than a split second. With that said, I hope you understand the real danger here.
Now I cannot tell for sure just how close I am to reaching that state, or even if I ever will. All I know is that my obsession has begun to turn into something like worship in it's true sense. My feeling are kinda creepy, but I can't deny them.
That's what broke my heart last time, but this is no guarantee at all, you should know. I could lose my hope of ever getting together with him in the future, or he could get engaged, or move far much further away like to another country. When I am at that point, the point when I only live for him and would die for him and my whole world completely revolves around him - basically anything, even the smallest little thing, could push me over the edge. The thin line between lovesickness and heartbreak.
Although heartbreak is perhaps not so obviously much worse, the pain and hopelessness is increased massively. Along with the feeling that I have lost my only reason to live. And that can happen in less than a split second. With that said, I hope you understand the real danger here.
Now I cannot tell for sure just how close I am to reaching that state, or even if I ever will. All I know is that my obsession has begun to turn into something like worship in it's true sense. My feeling are kinda creepy, but I can't deny them.
Friday, 15 November 2013
Slow started
I'm bored. I tend to get bored after hours and hours just sitting by the computer slowly destroying my apartment's interior and my lungs with cigarette smoke. I really feel like I don't do anything else than smoking and watching movies I haven't seen before. One after another until I can barely tell them apart. The more actors/actresses I recognise in them, the better I expect them to be. That's hardly always the case though.
I have a thing for movies depicting someone or some people with mental disorders or symptoms of such, but I won't watch just any of them cause I am kind of picky. Well, sometimes at least, depending on how bored I am.
One demand that I have is that it's gotta be at least one good actor/actress in a major roll. It isn't so hard to find such movies though. Other demands that I have is that it can't be a slow movie, contain too much action, too much sex or too much food and eating. Well, that's about it.
My mind seems empty, but when I start writing it seems the words just flow out of me. I can't understand where they come from. And how come my grammar suddenly improved and I type faster after I've been awake for nearly 50 hours? Am I really that slow started nowadays? That makes no sense what so ever to me.
Maybe I should take this moment of a sudden spur of writing energy, or whatever it is, and do something productive about it instead? It is worth a try, I mean. Maybe watching a movie about writers sparked something in me; it is known to happen. I get inspired, which might not be so strange considering.
But I don't know what to write about, in any of my started novels. I certainly don't want to pick up another new project that won't get finished either, so I have to work with what I have. I'm really going all out language wise in "Grimston Estate" and it can be frustrating sometimes when I can't seem to get the sentences structured properly. In "Lost in paradise" I go for a lighter tone altogether, but it stings in my heart thinking about Dala so I don't think I could muster going into that project just now. So the choice is actually kind of simple, I suppose.
Yes, I should just open the document and let the words flow. Just like that. No need to think of a certain scene to write, just type and see what happens. I can always erase it if it becomes crappy. I think I'll do that. Wow. Not one spelling mistake and I didn't even look up at the screen.
I have a thing for movies depicting someone or some people with mental disorders or symptoms of such, but I won't watch just any of them cause I am kind of picky. Well, sometimes at least, depending on how bored I am.
One demand that I have is that it's gotta be at least one good actor/actress in a major roll. It isn't so hard to find such movies though. Other demands that I have is that it can't be a slow movie, contain too much action, too much sex or too much food and eating. Well, that's about it.
My mind seems empty, but when I start writing it seems the words just flow out of me. I can't understand where they come from. And how come my grammar suddenly improved and I type faster after I've been awake for nearly 50 hours? Am I really that slow started nowadays? That makes no sense what so ever to me.
Maybe I should take this moment of a sudden spur of writing energy, or whatever it is, and do something productive about it instead? It is worth a try, I mean. Maybe watching a movie about writers sparked something in me; it is known to happen. I get inspired, which might not be so strange considering.
But I don't know what to write about, in any of my started novels. I certainly don't want to pick up another new project that won't get finished either, so I have to work with what I have. I'm really going all out language wise in "Grimston Estate" and it can be frustrating sometimes when I can't seem to get the sentences structured properly. In "Lost in paradise" I go for a lighter tone altogether, but it stings in my heart thinking about Dala so I don't think I could muster going into that project just now. So the choice is actually kind of simple, I suppose.
Yes, I should just open the document and let the words flow. Just like that. No need to think of a certain scene to write, just type and see what happens. I can always erase it if it becomes crappy. I think I'll do that. Wow. Not one spelling mistake and I didn't even look up at the screen.
Down there again
Why do I feel that way, why do I feel the need to be broken? I'm tearing myself apart. The will to die, will it always linger in me? Constantly tempting me with freedom and rest, being pain free, at peace, become one with or leave Anna, coming home. Will I be suicidal for life? Intentionally or subconsciously constantly shortening my own life with bad habits, just in case I won't die within those three or four years, or just because of that.
Am I always suicidal, just more or less? Don't I wish for that next cigarette to give me lung cancer, for that next dose of pills to kill my liver, for that next breath to be be my last? That maybe if I starve myself long enough I'd eventually die from malnutrition, or that at some point if I manage to stay awake long enough my body will give out completely. Without taking more pills than I should, or slitting my arms too deep, or anything directly deadly, don't I still have that vague hint of a feeling that I just wish this could be my last day in this hell? Yes...
A memory from when I was in a psych ward in Uppsala two years ago that will never leave my mind. A guy there, he was funny, a truck driver in his late 30's. I can't remember his name, or even what he looked like except from blue jeans and shaved head. He said something, can't remember the exact words, or the word, but I can't forget it. Something about us smokers committing suicide methodically or contemplated. I had never until then thought about it that way, but he was so right.
It's amazing what truly amazing people you meet within those walls. When we are the most vulnerable, broken or uncontrollable. Sharing cigarettes and slipping pills when the staff isn't looking. It's a world of its own.
I'm falling again. Thought I was in bad shape yesterday? Well today it's even worse. I've stopped eating and started popping caffeine pills again. I won't take my sleeping pills or sedatives or do anything that will calm me down too much. I'm feeding my anxiety and sadness instead of trying to ease it. Why? I don't know, but I seem to purposely make myself feel worse.
Maybe it's like when you get angry and accidentally break something that you like, so you get even more angry, but instead of trying to fix the thing you broke, you break it even more.
But I won't kill myself. Not more than I already do at least. I'm satisfied by these means of self harm that will probably harm me in the now as well as in the long run. That was all I was writing about, so don't get any ideas.
Am I always suicidal, just more or less? Don't I wish for that next cigarette to give me lung cancer, for that next dose of pills to kill my liver, for that next breath to be be my last? That maybe if I starve myself long enough I'd eventually die from malnutrition, or that at some point if I manage to stay awake long enough my body will give out completely. Without taking more pills than I should, or slitting my arms too deep, or anything directly deadly, don't I still have that vague hint of a feeling that I just wish this could be my last day in this hell? Yes...
A memory from when I was in a psych ward in Uppsala two years ago that will never leave my mind. A guy there, he was funny, a truck driver in his late 30's. I can't remember his name, or even what he looked like except from blue jeans and shaved head. He said something, can't remember the exact words, or the word, but I can't forget it. Something about us smokers committing suicide methodically or contemplated. I had never until then thought about it that way, but he was so right.
It's amazing what truly amazing people you meet within those walls. When we are the most vulnerable, broken or uncontrollable. Sharing cigarettes and slipping pills when the staff isn't looking. It's a world of its own.
I'm falling again. Thought I was in bad shape yesterday? Well today it's even worse. I've stopped eating and started popping caffeine pills again. I won't take my sleeping pills or sedatives or do anything that will calm me down too much. I'm feeding my anxiety and sadness instead of trying to ease it. Why? I don't know, but I seem to purposely make myself feel worse.
Maybe it's like when you get angry and accidentally break something that you like, so you get even more angry, but instead of trying to fix the thing you broke, you break it even more.
But I won't kill myself. Not more than I already do at least. I'm satisfied by these means of self harm that will probably harm me in the now as well as in the long run. That was all I was writing about, so don't get any ideas.
My last dance
My love is constantly on my mind tonight and the day that just passed. His existence has brought me hopelessness, heartache, jealousy and bitter joy, hope, longing, wishing, missing, dreaming. I'm cold and I constantly forget why, then I remember, and forget it again. Not even he can keep me warm, not from all these miles away. Every increasing thought make me feel like I'm drowning in despair. It hurts so bad tonight and I've lost myself in a distorted paradise of a future that will never exist. A slowly shattering dream that will never be. I need to hold on, not let it break me. Not yet!
Preparing for the worst isn't even an option, cause how does one prepare for death? Oh yeah, I've been doing that all my life, so what's the point really? I don't wanna think about it but the thoughts invade me and fucks with my mind. One of those things I just can't seem to be able to control and I don't think I ever will. I need to keep believing that it could one day become true, that I will finally know what being happy is like. Just once.
I need it for this life to ever become meaningful and worth living for. For all the love that I've ever felt that has choked me for so long and so many times to ever have meant anything.
Do you understand? If I won't ever experience mutual love in a good relationship everything I've ever felt for any romantic interest will have been for nothing. All this searing pain and hopelessness for absolutely nothing but pain and hopelessness. I can't bear that thought. Something good has to come out of it and this is my last chance. My last dance. Cause if I fall to pieces again I won't be able to continue. I'll shut the doors forever.
Maybe this is just nonsense. Have I ever been able to predict the future? Perhaps not, but one thing that I know for sure is: every time it's stronger, heavier, more powerful and painful than ever before. And the last time I was this fucking close to actually die because of it. I may not be a seer, but I know there's only so much you can take. Even I can't conceive of just how much I love him, but these feelings are beyond doubt something I have never felt before. I'll wait for him, and I'll continue waiting for as long as I can take this.
I've never had the patience and will to wait for someone like this before. Passively looking over my shoulder to see if anything has changed, keeping my distance further than I need and closer than I dare. Cautiously waiting for something that will most likely never happen. And shallowly walk in his foot steps miles away, pretending I just want to be his friend.
Preparing for the worst isn't even an option, cause how does one prepare for death? Oh yeah, I've been doing that all my life, so what's the point really? I don't wanna think about it but the thoughts invade me and fucks with my mind. One of those things I just can't seem to be able to control and I don't think I ever will. I need to keep believing that it could one day become true, that I will finally know what being happy is like. Just once.
I need it for this life to ever become meaningful and worth living for. For all the love that I've ever felt that has choked me for so long and so many times to ever have meant anything.
Do you understand? If I won't ever experience mutual love in a good relationship everything I've ever felt for any romantic interest will have been for nothing. All this searing pain and hopelessness for absolutely nothing but pain and hopelessness. I can't bear that thought. Something good has to come out of it and this is my last chance. My last dance. Cause if I fall to pieces again I won't be able to continue. I'll shut the doors forever.
Maybe this is just nonsense. Have I ever been able to predict the future? Perhaps not, but one thing that I know for sure is: every time it's stronger, heavier, more powerful and painful than ever before. And the last time I was this fucking close to actually die because of it. I may not be a seer, but I know there's only so much you can take. Even I can't conceive of just how much I love him, but these feelings are beyond doubt something I have never felt before. I'll wait for him, and I'll continue waiting for as long as I can take this.
I've never had the patience and will to wait for someone like this before. Passively looking over my shoulder to see if anything has changed, keeping my distance further than I need and closer than I dare. Cautiously waiting for something that will most likely never happen. And shallowly walk in his foot steps miles away, pretending I just want to be his friend.
The difference between us
Me and my realisations. Doesn't seem to be an end to them, does it? However, one of the most recent ones I had is about Anna. She can't feel or in any way experience love at all. She's never been in love with anyone that I have or haven't, she doesn't love any of my family members or friends, and obviously she doesn't have any of her own. The only other people besides me she could possibly befriend would be Vargyl or Satan, and she totally loathes both of them.
I can't even say that she loves me. It is more of a duty to her, I'm her duty. She came to me as my guardian angel and swore to protect me and that's why she exists in the first place, but it was never out of love. She's still like a guardian, except perhaps the "angel" part. Not really a saint, so to say, and she doesn't always stick to that oath nowadays. Well, we're not kids any more.
It came to my understanding that we are total opposites on that matter, like night and day. That she's completely incapable of feeling love and I'm almost constantly more or less in love with someone (cause honestly, have I ever been out of love since fifth grade?)
I've always been hoping for her to like the same person as I do, that that would somehow make me feel more whole. We are bits and pieces of each other, if not entirely the same person cut in half. So if that's the case, I can't help but wonder how deeply I've ever been in love, how terribly lovesick I've ever been: was/is there a part of me not capable of feeling anything for anyone? And that "part of me" being Anna, I mean.
It's hard for me to think of us as the same person, but in a way I believe that it could most likely be so. It's not exactly common for a person to get a "walk in" spirit or something just moving in to your brain all of a sudden right after a terrible childhood trauma. It just doesn't quite resonate as something like that in our case. It's text book mental disorder.
I know it's a contradiction, but I also truly believe that she is indeed a person of her own, another life form of sorts. I can't explain it, as I've mentioned a gazillion times before. But it has to do with the fact that even if we once were the same person before we split, we definitely aren't any more. We've grown apart, developed different personalities and she has every quality any other real person would have - except for a body of her own. A life of her own, cause she is literally living my life.
So what I'm saying is that I shouldn't invalidate her feelings (or lack there of) just because they aren't equal to mine, and state that it doesn't make me feel "whole" when it just further proves that we aren't the same. In my world it is perfectly possible to not be able to feel love at all; in the same way it's obviously possible for me to feel love so insanely strong and much and out of control it has led me to obsessions, stalker-ish behaviour, heartbreak after heartbreak and at least five suicide attempts just because I got more than I could handle. (Love is supposed to be a positive feeling, right? But too much of anything will break you, or even kill you.)
Perhaps I just want to finally share those feelings with her, want her to know what it's like and be in it together. Cause it pisses me off that she's constantly criticising what she can't understand.
I can't even say that she loves me. It is more of a duty to her, I'm her duty. She came to me as my guardian angel and swore to protect me and that's why she exists in the first place, but it was never out of love. She's still like a guardian, except perhaps the "angel" part. Not really a saint, so to say, and she doesn't always stick to that oath nowadays. Well, we're not kids any more.
It came to my understanding that we are total opposites on that matter, like night and day. That she's completely incapable of feeling love and I'm almost constantly more or less in love with someone (cause honestly, have I ever been out of love since fifth grade?)
I've always been hoping for her to like the same person as I do, that that would somehow make me feel more whole. We are bits and pieces of each other, if not entirely the same person cut in half. So if that's the case, I can't help but wonder how deeply I've ever been in love, how terribly lovesick I've ever been: was/is there a part of me not capable of feeling anything for anyone? And that "part of me" being Anna, I mean.
It's hard for me to think of us as the same person, but in a way I believe that it could most likely be so. It's not exactly common for a person to get a "walk in" spirit or something just moving in to your brain all of a sudden right after a terrible childhood trauma. It just doesn't quite resonate as something like that in our case. It's text book mental disorder.
I know it's a contradiction, but I also truly believe that she is indeed a person of her own, another life form of sorts. I can't explain it, as I've mentioned a gazillion times before. But it has to do with the fact that even if we once were the same person before we split, we definitely aren't any more. We've grown apart, developed different personalities and she has every quality any other real person would have - except for a body of her own. A life of her own, cause she is literally living my life.
So what I'm saying is that I shouldn't invalidate her feelings (or lack there of) just because they aren't equal to mine, and state that it doesn't make me feel "whole" when it just further proves that we aren't the same. In my world it is perfectly possible to not be able to feel love at all; in the same way it's obviously possible for me to feel love so insanely strong and much and out of control it has led me to obsessions, stalker-ish behaviour, heartbreak after heartbreak and at least five suicide attempts just because I got more than I could handle. (Love is supposed to be a positive feeling, right? But too much of anything will break you, or even kill you.)
Perhaps I just want to finally share those feelings with her, want her to know what it's like and be in it together. Cause it pisses me off that she's constantly criticising what she can't understand.
Thursday, 14 November 2013
Fear
This new kind of anxiety I'm getting scares me, cause it's purely mental and gives no physical symptoms what so ever. Therefore, no meds can ease it. I can't control it, I can't bear it, and I don't know how to make it go away. If I play it wrong I end up putting out fire with gasoline and it can last for hours. I think maybe I'm not supposed to. Fear and suffering always find new ways of tormenting me, it's like it tries to tell me I have to learn to endure it instead of running away or it will just keep getting worse.
written later:
I get this weird feeling in my fingers, allover my skin. Not tingling, rather the opposite. Not added sensation, but like partially fading. Reverse tingling, how about that. Seems I get to experience a lot of new shit today.
No, today has not been a good day. Though I managed to calm down the anxiety eventually (I don't know how many hours later, honestly I didn't count, but it was daylight when I wrote the first passage. Okay, now I counted: five hours). Watched a Swedish movie that always cracks me up and played some WoW. Though that only works if I'm going on a low level character and just speed kill everything I see in game.
That "all guns blazing" is totally my style in video games by the way. It's great to blow off steam but not so practical in the long run. Oh well, I suppose it fits my personality a little as well. I may seem calm and quiet, but I never back down a challenge. Yeah, I've been run over a bunch of times, but I'm still running. Built up a kill or be killed mentality, so to say. Face everything that is chasing me, and start chasing it in return.
I don't understand why I can't overcome my phobias, I play with them all the time. Extreme fear of heights? I'm still getting up on that unstable chair to fix the light bulb. Scared of distortion? Let's have a re-run on that horror movie that presents it so well. Afraid of sleeping? Fuck that shit, I'm tired (I did one night). Still, nope. Every phobia is still there, exposure doesn't quite seem to cut it for me. But I won't give up, not until I've become fearless.
written later:
I get this weird feeling in my fingers, allover my skin. Not tingling, rather the opposite. Not added sensation, but like partially fading. Reverse tingling, how about that. Seems I get to experience a lot of new shit today.
No, today has not been a good day. Though I managed to calm down the anxiety eventually (I don't know how many hours later, honestly I didn't count, but it was daylight when I wrote the first passage. Okay, now I counted: five hours). Watched a Swedish movie that always cracks me up and played some WoW. Though that only works if I'm going on a low level character and just speed kill everything I see in game.
That "all guns blazing" is totally my style in video games by the way. It's great to blow off steam but not so practical in the long run. Oh well, I suppose it fits my personality a little as well. I may seem calm and quiet, but I never back down a challenge. Yeah, I've been run over a bunch of times, but I'm still running. Built up a kill or be killed mentality, so to say. Face everything that is chasing me, and start chasing it in return.
I don't understand why I can't overcome my phobias, I play with them all the time. Extreme fear of heights? I'm still getting up on that unstable chair to fix the light bulb. Scared of distortion? Let's have a re-run on that horror movie that presents it so well. Afraid of sleeping? Fuck that shit, I'm tired (I did one night). Still, nope. Every phobia is still there, exposure doesn't quite seem to cut it for me. But I won't give up, not until I've become fearless.
Barely there
Barely need to reach down to the floor to turn the kettle on. Use the same unwashed tea cup for the seventh time, the same teabag for the third. Everything is spread around me, all the trash that I collect. Soda cans, cigarette butts and paper tissues litter around my chair like a fortress of hopelessness. My back aches and my head feels tight. I'm sorry, but nothing is alright.
I can't find my desk under all these papers, boxes with medication and books. Counting cigarettes on a writing pad, and forget only half of them. All these reminder notes for things I'd rather just forget. Can barely breathe for all the smoke, but it gets so cold with the window open, I'd rather just suffocate. And I would solve the world problems by shutting them out, if I would let them in to begin with.
The refreshing taste of menthol with blood between my teeth from fresh wounds. It's an addiction that comes an goes, and it has for nine years in January. But time passes and I hardly even notice. I live in the past, in lost dreams and memories that never was. An inevitable sting in my heart. The dagger was already in, it was so easy just to twist it. I remain silent without tears, I built a wall I cannot break through even when I'm alone.
And I realise that I'm still holding back, can't let him into my soul. Cause if I do he'll be there forever, just like Caspian and T. I can deal with a broken heart, but a broken soul can never fully heal. Pull down my sleeves and light another cigarette. I'm still here.
I can't find my desk under all these papers, boxes with medication and books. Counting cigarettes on a writing pad, and forget only half of them. All these reminder notes for things I'd rather just forget. Can barely breathe for all the smoke, but it gets so cold with the window open, I'd rather just suffocate. And I would solve the world problems by shutting them out, if I would let them in to begin with.
The refreshing taste of menthol with blood between my teeth from fresh wounds. It's an addiction that comes an goes, and it has for nine years in January. But time passes and I hardly even notice. I live in the past, in lost dreams and memories that never was. An inevitable sting in my heart. The dagger was already in, it was so easy just to twist it. I remain silent without tears, I built a wall I cannot break through even when I'm alone.
And I realise that I'm still holding back, can't let him into my soul. Cause if I do he'll be there forever, just like Caspian and T. I can deal with a broken heart, but a broken soul can never fully heal. Pull down my sleeves and light another cigarette. I'm still here.
Choices and voices
Vargyl: Stop talking about yourself as if you were someone else. I know what you're thinking, that I'm just a hallucination and you should discard me as such, but I know that you don't really think that. You're analysing too much. I'm not just a voice in your head and you know it.
Yeah, still torn between accepting reality and just wallowing in my fantasy world. Though he does intimidate me, so I don't know so much about the wallowing part. I know so little about him, yet I have so much to write about him. He seems cold. Like right through cold, emotionless, frigid, and I suppose that's what intimidates me about him. He says that he loves me, but his words are empty, shallow in a way. Still I believe him. I hate it when he pops out of nowhere, says something and it makes me jump out of my chair. Could ask for a little warning before, perhaps?
Yeah I am a bit afraid of my own mind. And all these people that seem to populate it all of a sudden. I'm never alone, I'm not even alone in my own skin. Though, it's not always bad. It can be quite nice to have some company sometimes. But it's irritating when they disturb my WoW playing so that I almost end up getting killed in the middle of a raid or something. The whole group wiped in a dungeon but I can't know for sure if I have Vargyl to blame for that, though he was distracting me.
I know that this gets worse when I'm awake for too long. After 24 hours I'm having a nervous conversation with Vargyl. After 30 hours Anna is starting to lose it and I'm starting to hallucinate visually, seeing stuff. After 40 to 50 hours I need to hold on to my desk because the floor is wobbling and constantly look over my shoulder cause I think someone is watching me. After 60 to 70 hours I'm tackling three conversations with Anna, Vargyl and Satan but gotten used to the other stuff. Passed that I've never gotten. Thankfully.
But is it a choice that I make to stay up way after bedtime, or is it rather involuntary? I sure as hell wouldn't choose hallucinations and delusions going haywire and creeping the fuck out of me, but I don't choose to sleep either. Perhaps I try to not choose either of them, cause I really hate making a decision. What I would do to not have to choose at all. Anything. Just leave all the options constantly available for when the right time comes. Why does everything have to be so black and white? They say there are grey zones, but when it comes to sleep/being awake there really isn't any greys in between.
Yeah, still torn between accepting reality and just wallowing in my fantasy world. Though he does intimidate me, so I don't know so much about the wallowing part. I know so little about him, yet I have so much to write about him. He seems cold. Like right through cold, emotionless, frigid, and I suppose that's what intimidates me about him. He says that he loves me, but his words are empty, shallow in a way. Still I believe him. I hate it when he pops out of nowhere, says something and it makes me jump out of my chair. Could ask for a little warning before, perhaps?
Yeah I am a bit afraid of my own mind. And all these people that seem to populate it all of a sudden. I'm never alone, I'm not even alone in my own skin. Though, it's not always bad. It can be quite nice to have some company sometimes. But it's irritating when they disturb my WoW playing so that I almost end up getting killed in the middle of a raid or something. The whole group wiped in a dungeon but I can't know for sure if I have Vargyl to blame for that, though he was distracting me.
I know that this gets worse when I'm awake for too long. After 24 hours I'm having a nervous conversation with Vargyl. After 30 hours Anna is starting to lose it and I'm starting to hallucinate visually, seeing stuff. After 40 to 50 hours I need to hold on to my desk because the floor is wobbling and constantly look over my shoulder cause I think someone is watching me. After 60 to 70 hours I'm tackling three conversations with Anna, Vargyl and Satan but gotten used to the other stuff. Passed that I've never gotten. Thankfully.
But is it a choice that I make to stay up way after bedtime, or is it rather involuntary? I sure as hell wouldn't choose hallucinations and delusions going haywire and creeping the fuck out of me, but I don't choose to sleep either. Perhaps I try to not choose either of them, cause I really hate making a decision. What I would do to not have to choose at all. Anything. Just leave all the options constantly available for when the right time comes. Why does everything have to be so black and white? They say there are grey zones, but when it comes to sleep/being awake there really isn't any greys in between.
It's in my blood
I dreamt that I had bleached my whole hair, but I didn't understand why, but then I realised that I wanted to become blonde. I was on a trip with my two friends and one one them got furious over me accidentally breaking something of his, and then we had somewhat of a war where he destroyed my things, one at a time, saying that he was only getting even with me.
I don't know if this is a delusion, but I think that when I'm letting myself bleed, I let out more than just my blood. This anxiety, this illness or condition or whatever it is. I think that it's in my blood. Like a hereditary/congenital disease or a virus. And by letting some of it out, I also temporarily free myself from what runs in it. When I feel faint right afterwards, I know that I've succeeded to let out some of it. Again, this could be interpreted as a figure of speech, but I do mean literally. That tapping it out is almost kinda like some sort of cleansing. Perhaps this isn't so weird at all, this idea. But it sounds like something in the lines of psychotic thinking. It's hard to tell from where I stand.
But a belief must be like any other belief, right? I mean, say if I believe in ghosts, then I can categorize that belief as something occult, right? So why shouldn't I be able to know if my beliefs like this one with my blood is psychotic? Theoretically, that should be possible to distinguish. But it's hard. It's hard as hell. Cause no matter how self aware I am, trying to figure out which of my beliefs are normal, unusual or psychotic can be damn frigging hard at times.
I don't know if this is a delusion, but I think that when I'm letting myself bleed, I let out more than just my blood. This anxiety, this illness or condition or whatever it is. I think that it's in my blood. Like a hereditary/congenital disease or a virus. And by letting some of it out, I also temporarily free myself from what runs in it. When I feel faint right afterwards, I know that I've succeeded to let out some of it. Again, this could be interpreted as a figure of speech, but I do mean literally. That tapping it out is almost kinda like some sort of cleansing. Perhaps this isn't so weird at all, this idea. But it sounds like something in the lines of psychotic thinking. It's hard to tell from where I stand.
But a belief must be like any other belief, right? I mean, say if I believe in ghosts, then I can categorize that belief as something occult, right? So why shouldn't I be able to know if my beliefs like this one with my blood is psychotic? Theoretically, that should be possible to distinguish. But it's hard. It's hard as hell. Cause no matter how self aware I am, trying to figure out which of my beliefs are normal, unusual or psychotic can be damn frigging hard at times.
Tuesday, 12 November 2013
Strawberry gashes and basic needs
I know my anxiolytics are working when I get so numb and distracted I forget my cigarette and can't hold up my arm. I really gotta eat. I hate eating, I don't want to. Wish there was another way. Another way to shut up my growling stomach, another way to regain my energy and make it last. Have you ever thought about how stupid eating is? You have to shove in a lot of shit into your mouth and then the body is only satisfied for a few hours before you have to do it allover again. And most of it you only shit out anyway.
Maybe I am just crazy, but I think the whole process is so... stupid. Like how did evolution think there? Appetite. I think maybe that is why I can't get around this issue. I have no appetite and haven't had that for a really long time, and therefore I start thinking about it in weird terms.
I just wish someone in my circle of friends could understand this. How I think of food and eating. How I only do it to survive, because dying from starvation is just not such a tempting thought. How I only two or three times a year can enjoy food and all the other times it's just a necessary evil. And of all this I seem to dislike vegetables the most. Hard to eat healthy then. And I'm lazy. My thought around cooking food is this: why spend time and effort on something I'm just gonna shove into my mouth to get it over with?
Ugh... I just hate this so much. It's this thing I just can't understand why people like so much. Maybe I'm just programmed wrong or something. As if anything was programmed right. I'm so tired of never working as intended, complexing my life and life itself just keep fucking me over. Cause nothing is ever simple, especially these basic needs, I just can't do it. I can't eat right, I can't sleep right. Well at least I can breathe on my own, I have that to be thankful over. But not for long if I keep on smoking like a chimney.
And I believe this one really big reason why I can't start living a better life. I don't need the crew or my mother a phone call away, I need fucking room service. Someone who literally drags me up from bed every morning, force feeds me my sleeping pills so that I will fall asleep at night and cooks me three meals a day.
I've given up. That is why I stopped trying to sleep better, stopped trying to eat better. At least I'm awake at all, at least I get some sleep at all, and at least I eat something at all. And that's the best I can do for now.
What do anxiolytics do really? They calmed me down, but I was calm already to begin with. Had enough anxiety to cut my whole arm up and think of how miserable I am with this lovesickness situation and that I keep fucking up my life with sleep and food. But I was calm. I took the pills, felt the effect and then I wrote this. After the effect kicked in. Not long either, just a minute or so. I just don't know what to do. Distraction! Distraction, of course! Let's watch a movie or something.
Maybe I am just crazy, but I think the whole process is so... stupid. Like how did evolution think there? Appetite. I think maybe that is why I can't get around this issue. I have no appetite and haven't had that for a really long time, and therefore I start thinking about it in weird terms.
I just wish someone in my circle of friends could understand this. How I think of food and eating. How I only do it to survive, because dying from starvation is just not such a tempting thought. How I only two or three times a year can enjoy food and all the other times it's just a necessary evil. And of all this I seem to dislike vegetables the most. Hard to eat healthy then. And I'm lazy. My thought around cooking food is this: why spend time and effort on something I'm just gonna shove into my mouth to get it over with?
Ugh... I just hate this so much. It's this thing I just can't understand why people like so much. Maybe I'm just programmed wrong or something. As if anything was programmed right. I'm so tired of never working as intended, complexing my life and life itself just keep fucking me over. Cause nothing is ever simple, especially these basic needs, I just can't do it. I can't eat right, I can't sleep right. Well at least I can breathe on my own, I have that to be thankful over. But not for long if I keep on smoking like a chimney.
And I believe this one really big reason why I can't start living a better life. I don't need the crew or my mother a phone call away, I need fucking room service. Someone who literally drags me up from bed every morning, force feeds me my sleeping pills so that I will fall asleep at night and cooks me three meals a day.
I've given up. That is why I stopped trying to sleep better, stopped trying to eat better. At least I'm awake at all, at least I get some sleep at all, and at least I eat something at all. And that's the best I can do for now.
What do anxiolytics do really? They calmed me down, but I was calm already to begin with. Had enough anxiety to cut my whole arm up and think of how miserable I am with this lovesickness situation and that I keep fucking up my life with sleep and food. But I was calm. I took the pills, felt the effect and then I wrote this. After the effect kicked in. Not long either, just a minute or so. I just don't know what to do. Distraction! Distraction, of course! Let's watch a movie or something.
Memories and irony
I hate it that when I sleep for a whole day and two nights and I have like 500 unseen posts on tumblr... Somehow I feel smarter and more connected when I've been awake for 24 hours or more. My brain is a bit slow started. So this is what it's become of my circadian rhythm. I'm not sure if I like it, more apathetic about it. Like I don't care that I'm pulling three or four all nighters, and sleep two or three days in a week, every week. I can't even remember for how long this has gone on.
I'm thinking about my eleventh suicide attempt again. I do that quite a lot lately, just that one. When I could have died. Thinking about that if I hadn't gone to the hospital I would have died that night. Thinking what I should have done instead so that I wouldn't have to be here today. Should not have gone back home, should have taken shelter at McDonalds or something, just until I started to doze off, then walked away to die somewhere secluded where there were no people. In the middle of Uppsala, yeah I probably wouldn't have gotten that far. But still.
So in that sense I guess I kinda want to die. In the sense that I wish that I had died then and there. Still going over it in my memory, replaying every detail. How cold it was, how I sat there on the pier writing suicide notes to my mother, my boyfriend at the time, to my best friend and to the authorities; while eating a sandwich and downing pills with cheap wine, how I lied down and wrapped my leather coat closer to me.
And when that weird domestic worker from where I lived came by and started talking to me. He had a crush on me and wouldn't leave me alone. I lied there dying from suicide and he sat there unknowing, talking to me as if it was just another lovely day. I didn't have the guts to tell him to fuck off. He had just a few days earlier tried to kiss me, and I thought he must be very lonely, that not many people wanted to talk to him. He a was kind man of African heritage in his 50's or so, though I could only understand a few words of what he said with a broad accent. Can't even remember if we talked in Swedish or English. Can't remember what we said at all. You could say I had other things on my mind at the time. Though he was quite peculiar and I couldn't understand what he saw in a young androgynous goth with obvious mental problems.
When I think about that day, I think of a few parts of that memory more at one point, and other parts at another point. It's seldom I think about the whole day and following night. I don't remember at what time I went down to that pier, but I think it was around 6 or 7 pm. And I don't remember when I ended up in the hospital, but they were done at 3 am. So yeah, it was more a night than a day. Mostly I try to remember what I blacked out. The ride in the ambulance, what they said in the hospital, things like that. If I try hard, I can remember when they arrived at the apartment I lived in, and when they helped me down the stairs. But I must have passed out somewhere around there, cause the next thing I remember I'm on a gurney in the intensive care unit, and my memories from there on are very vague.
Why do I keep going on about this particular memory? It holds a certain significance, like the first time I was actually close to dying, so close that some days I even think that I actually did die that day. And I'm just a ghost now. Cause it feels like I am just a ghost and I've been so ever since then. And I can't let go.
So maybe that's why my twelfth suicide attempt doesn't bother me that much, cause of course I couldn't die, I'm already dead. Silly, really, cause I know that I'm still alive. Don't I...? No, I still doubt. There was a risk, but not so high, that I could have died that time too. When you stop breathing by your own hand, like I did, you pass out and let go of the grip, your body automatically starts breathing again. But it's not a 100% chance of it doing so. So that's what I mean, I could have died, but it wasn't likely, and I knew that. I knew that when I took that choice of trying it anyway. So I was more desperate to do it as soon as possible, and thought I'd give it a shot, even though I knew it wasn't likely going to work.
And maybe that is also why I don't think so much about that attempt. It was deadly, but my intentions were a bit wacky and so was my choice. It wasn't even thought through, but alas, my choices were a bit limited because I was in a mental institution.
My opinions about that ward sank a bit after that night. I mean come on, a patient of theirs tries to kill themselves and what do they do? They didn't even notice. I had a huge fucking wound across my neck and spoke with a sore voice that barely held and they didn't say anything. I eventually told them and what did they do? Nothing. So it wasn't so strange that I tried it again the next night. And again the night after that. And again. Four times all and all, until I just gave up on that. I'm just glad I didn't have a room mate!
So I never think about that, huh? I obviously do. But I don't even know half the stuff I'm thinking about, so I guess it just slipped my mind or something. It's so weird though, the psych wards just seem to get worse and worse. "Back in the day" when I was admitted as a minor in 2005 it was really good. They took good care of me and they noticed whenever I was upset, had cut myself or cried. In 2011 I was admitted thrice and they were from bad to worse, but at least they noticed if something was terribly wrong with me. This time... I had to become mute for them to even notice, but nothing bothered them. Not my muteness, not my self harm or my four suicide attempts.
I'm not trying to seek attention. Well, I do, but in the sense that I seek medical attention. That wasn't fake, anything that I did or that happened to me there. It was all real. And after all that had happened I wanted their attention so they could help me. But they couldn't. I hate that damn place, and I see no reason going back there. Everything is out of their jurisdiction and all they can do is talk and change my meds. I already have a psychiatrist, a shrink and a supportive mother, so what can they offer me that I don't already have? I was in for being suicidal, and I was very suicidal, and they couldn't even be on suicide watch. Couldn't help but wonder how many patients there had killed themselves. In that ward, in that room where I slept. It's not like in the movies, you should know.
I'm slightly obsessed with suicide I realise, especially my own futile attempts. This day disappeared too, it's dark for so long and so much these days. I went up at 8:00 after I had slept for 30 or so hours again. I don't remember when I went to bed, nor do I care. Around midnight to the 10th I think. I didn't really want to get up, but I couldn't sleep any longer and I thought that if I was gonna get up, I wanted it to be daylight. So I did get all daylight that I could today, yet it wasn't enough. I'm tired of all the darkness. Do you realise just how much darkness it is when you're awake around the clock and you only get 5 or 6 hours of light a day? Most of my time I write, listen to music, surf on the web, eat, drink coffee, embroider and so on in darkness. I barely turn off the lights before I have to turn them back on again.
Just made myself this insanely strong cup of coffee. I've had like two gulps and I feel dizzy. I bought these kind of powder cappuccinos you mix with hot water. Alright I took one of those in a smaller cup, and mixed in two spoons of regular instant coffee, more sugar and more cream. Like four cups in one! Now that oughta keep me up tonight.
I realise that I really like German as of lately, or for a few months or so now, and especially in music. Many nice industrial bands seem to have a few songs in German, so I whipped up a playlist for that on Spotify. I really do make playlists for everything, don't I? Well, every mood deserves its own music. And I still have many moods.
Maybe it's not so strange that I suddenly like German, cause that's the kind of language I like, in general I mean. Now "that kind of language" is a pretty loose concept when it comes to me. What I mean is hard consonants, powerful and a little complicated in a way. Like Russian, German or Czech. Not those generally considered "beautiful" languages like French or Spanish, that I can't say I like much at all, and I certainly don't find them to be beautiful. Just another thing people consider me to be weird because of. To me it isn't weird, merely uncommon perhaps.
Now I've written nearly half a novel for a blog entry, but I can't seem to write anything productive lately. My inspiration is on hold, but I know it will come back to me. It always does. Still I can't help but wonder why that is, why I've suddenly lost my inspiration. I wrote and created things before, when I was a wreck this summer, so it can't be that, or can it?
I'm more stable now, my mood is stabilised due to medication and oh, how damn much medication I take for my mood swings... 300 mg Lamotrigin and 200 mg Tergretol a day. So how stable am I really? Taking half a drug store every day just to keep me from going from super depressive to manic to agressive to scared shitless anxious fifty times a day. I'm still feeling a lot, not at all zombified and lethargic. I mean, I could even up the dosage further without reaching that state. Not that I need to though. Even I need to feel something every once in a while. And wow do I feel! But just that now my emotions are controllable, except from my undying love for my crush and my fear of sleep that is. How can I even feel so damn much anxiety every night with all that medication in my blood stream?!
However, even though I'm stabilised mood wise, I do doubt that I'm completely in my right mind now. I'm staying up for days in a row, then sleep for an entire day and so it goes on. I get super anxious every night because of a phobia of sleep. I cut every day (except when I sleep for a whole day that is) and deeper and more severe than ever so I'm constantly on a slight blood loss, smoke like a chimney and don't even care about quitting any more, live on microwave meals and don't care about eating healthy, I've stopped taking daily walks and I'm a caffeine addict.
So yeah... I'm medicated enough to appear more stable and together and all, while I'm actually breaking apart piece by piece. It's like my subconscious or something still knows I'm a wreck and will do any wacky thing I can come up with to simply stay alive. This is so ironic I don't even know where to begin. In order to stay alive I do every possibly damaging thing I can think of, or at least if you would sum up this whole last six months or so, that would really be the case. I've tried every possible dangerous, and even deadly thing I can think of really, and then I complain of why it's so hard to survive? I mean what the fuck is wrong with me?! The definition of crazy: can't think straight, like ever.
Wow, now I've really written half a novel...
I'm thinking about my eleventh suicide attempt again. I do that quite a lot lately, just that one. When I could have died. Thinking about that if I hadn't gone to the hospital I would have died that night. Thinking what I should have done instead so that I wouldn't have to be here today. Should not have gone back home, should have taken shelter at McDonalds or something, just until I started to doze off, then walked away to die somewhere secluded where there were no people. In the middle of Uppsala, yeah I probably wouldn't have gotten that far. But still.
So in that sense I guess I kinda want to die. In the sense that I wish that I had died then and there. Still going over it in my memory, replaying every detail. How cold it was, how I sat there on the pier writing suicide notes to my mother, my boyfriend at the time, to my best friend and to the authorities; while eating a sandwich and downing pills with cheap wine, how I lied down and wrapped my leather coat closer to me.
And when that weird domestic worker from where I lived came by and started talking to me. He had a crush on me and wouldn't leave me alone. I lied there dying from suicide and he sat there unknowing, talking to me as if it was just another lovely day. I didn't have the guts to tell him to fuck off. He had just a few days earlier tried to kiss me, and I thought he must be very lonely, that not many people wanted to talk to him. He a was kind man of African heritage in his 50's or so, though I could only understand a few words of what he said with a broad accent. Can't even remember if we talked in Swedish or English. Can't remember what we said at all. You could say I had other things on my mind at the time. Though he was quite peculiar and I couldn't understand what he saw in a young androgynous goth with obvious mental problems.
When I think about that day, I think of a few parts of that memory more at one point, and other parts at another point. It's seldom I think about the whole day and following night. I don't remember at what time I went down to that pier, but I think it was around 6 or 7 pm. And I don't remember when I ended up in the hospital, but they were done at 3 am. So yeah, it was more a night than a day. Mostly I try to remember what I blacked out. The ride in the ambulance, what they said in the hospital, things like that. If I try hard, I can remember when they arrived at the apartment I lived in, and when they helped me down the stairs. But I must have passed out somewhere around there, cause the next thing I remember I'm on a gurney in the intensive care unit, and my memories from there on are very vague.
Why do I keep going on about this particular memory? It holds a certain significance, like the first time I was actually close to dying, so close that some days I even think that I actually did die that day. And I'm just a ghost now. Cause it feels like I am just a ghost and I've been so ever since then. And I can't let go.
So maybe that's why my twelfth suicide attempt doesn't bother me that much, cause of course I couldn't die, I'm already dead. Silly, really, cause I know that I'm still alive. Don't I...? No, I still doubt. There was a risk, but not so high, that I could have died that time too. When you stop breathing by your own hand, like I did, you pass out and let go of the grip, your body automatically starts breathing again. But it's not a 100% chance of it doing so. So that's what I mean, I could have died, but it wasn't likely, and I knew that. I knew that when I took that choice of trying it anyway. So I was more desperate to do it as soon as possible, and thought I'd give it a shot, even though I knew it wasn't likely going to work.
And maybe that is also why I don't think so much about that attempt. It was deadly, but my intentions were a bit wacky and so was my choice. It wasn't even thought through, but alas, my choices were a bit limited because I was in a mental institution.
My opinions about that ward sank a bit after that night. I mean come on, a patient of theirs tries to kill themselves and what do they do? They didn't even notice. I had a huge fucking wound across my neck and spoke with a sore voice that barely held and they didn't say anything. I eventually told them and what did they do? Nothing. So it wasn't so strange that I tried it again the next night. And again the night after that. And again. Four times all and all, until I just gave up on that. I'm just glad I didn't have a room mate!
So I never think about that, huh? I obviously do. But I don't even know half the stuff I'm thinking about, so I guess it just slipped my mind or something. It's so weird though, the psych wards just seem to get worse and worse. "Back in the day" when I was admitted as a minor in 2005 it was really good. They took good care of me and they noticed whenever I was upset, had cut myself or cried. In 2011 I was admitted thrice and they were from bad to worse, but at least they noticed if something was terribly wrong with me. This time... I had to become mute for them to even notice, but nothing bothered them. Not my muteness, not my self harm or my four suicide attempts.
I'm not trying to seek attention. Well, I do, but in the sense that I seek medical attention. That wasn't fake, anything that I did or that happened to me there. It was all real. And after all that had happened I wanted their attention so they could help me. But they couldn't. I hate that damn place, and I see no reason going back there. Everything is out of their jurisdiction and all they can do is talk and change my meds. I already have a psychiatrist, a shrink and a supportive mother, so what can they offer me that I don't already have? I was in for being suicidal, and I was very suicidal, and they couldn't even be on suicide watch. Couldn't help but wonder how many patients there had killed themselves. In that ward, in that room where I slept. It's not like in the movies, you should know.
I'm slightly obsessed with suicide I realise, especially my own futile attempts. This day disappeared too, it's dark for so long and so much these days. I went up at 8:00 after I had slept for 30 or so hours again. I don't remember when I went to bed, nor do I care. Around midnight to the 10th I think. I didn't really want to get up, but I couldn't sleep any longer and I thought that if I was gonna get up, I wanted it to be daylight. So I did get all daylight that I could today, yet it wasn't enough. I'm tired of all the darkness. Do you realise just how much darkness it is when you're awake around the clock and you only get 5 or 6 hours of light a day? Most of my time I write, listen to music, surf on the web, eat, drink coffee, embroider and so on in darkness. I barely turn off the lights before I have to turn them back on again.
Just made myself this insanely strong cup of coffee. I've had like two gulps and I feel dizzy. I bought these kind of powder cappuccinos you mix with hot water. Alright I took one of those in a smaller cup, and mixed in two spoons of regular instant coffee, more sugar and more cream. Like four cups in one! Now that oughta keep me up tonight.
I realise that I really like German as of lately, or for a few months or so now, and especially in music. Many nice industrial bands seem to have a few songs in German, so I whipped up a playlist for that on Spotify. I really do make playlists for everything, don't I? Well, every mood deserves its own music. And I still have many moods.
Maybe it's not so strange that I suddenly like German, cause that's the kind of language I like, in general I mean. Now "that kind of language" is a pretty loose concept when it comes to me. What I mean is hard consonants, powerful and a little complicated in a way. Like Russian, German or Czech. Not those generally considered "beautiful" languages like French or Spanish, that I can't say I like much at all, and I certainly don't find them to be beautiful. Just another thing people consider me to be weird because of. To me it isn't weird, merely uncommon perhaps.
Now I've written nearly half a novel for a blog entry, but I can't seem to write anything productive lately. My inspiration is on hold, but I know it will come back to me. It always does. Still I can't help but wonder why that is, why I've suddenly lost my inspiration. I wrote and created things before, when I was a wreck this summer, so it can't be that, or can it?
I'm more stable now, my mood is stabilised due to medication and oh, how damn much medication I take for my mood swings... 300 mg Lamotrigin and 200 mg Tergretol a day. So how stable am I really? Taking half a drug store every day just to keep me from going from super depressive to manic to agressive to scared shitless anxious fifty times a day. I'm still feeling a lot, not at all zombified and lethargic. I mean, I could even up the dosage further without reaching that state. Not that I need to though. Even I need to feel something every once in a while. And wow do I feel! But just that now my emotions are controllable, except from my undying love for my crush and my fear of sleep that is. How can I even feel so damn much anxiety every night with all that medication in my blood stream?!
However, even though I'm stabilised mood wise, I do doubt that I'm completely in my right mind now. I'm staying up for days in a row, then sleep for an entire day and so it goes on. I get super anxious every night because of a phobia of sleep. I cut every day (except when I sleep for a whole day that is) and deeper and more severe than ever so I'm constantly on a slight blood loss, smoke like a chimney and don't even care about quitting any more, live on microwave meals and don't care about eating healthy, I've stopped taking daily walks and I'm a caffeine addict.
So yeah... I'm medicated enough to appear more stable and together and all, while I'm actually breaking apart piece by piece. It's like my subconscious or something still knows I'm a wreck and will do any wacky thing I can come up with to simply stay alive. This is so ironic I don't even know where to begin. In order to stay alive I do every possibly damaging thing I can think of, or at least if you would sum up this whole last six months or so, that would really be the case. I've tried every possible dangerous, and even deadly thing I can think of really, and then I complain of why it's so hard to survive? I mean what the fuck is wrong with me?! The definition of crazy: can't think straight, like ever.
Wow, now I've really written half a novel...
Saturday, 9 November 2013
Hostile fantasies
I'm getting lost in fantasies all day and night now. Hostile fantasies, can you call them that? I start up with a normal conversation and it ends up in a fucking bar brawl in my mind. Mostly it's me defending my love or the other way around, against some nasty imaginary faceless people I just made up. I can't keep my synapses under control, I think there's a glitch in my brain today. Cause I keep creating knew scenarios and they all end up in curse words and fist fights. Some unresolved anger lying underneath, perhaps?
What just became of the last three or four hours? It seems to have slipped my mind. Sometimes I don't understand how I can make hours, days, weeks disappear just by staring at my computer screen basically. Well it's better than staring into a wall, which I tend to do when I'm somewhere I don't have access to my computer. Come to think of it, I have been staring into the wall quite a bit as of lately. These weird fantasies... I get so caught up in them that the screen is distracting. It's like watching a movie, and then the wall makes such a better background for it.
The fuck... is this why so many other not so sane people seem to stare into walls for long periods of time? Or am I the only one having a movie marathon in my own head for hours? Sometimes I get very sucked into my thoughts, that I find the world around me to be distracting - rather than the other way around. Then I go all in mode with a scenery: a bar, an apartment, a class room, a school yard, or anything really. Decide who's gonna be there, time of day, prior events and so on. Basically creating a snap shot. Then I find a topic of conversation, an opening line and just go with it.
So... that's a way of passing time, I suppose. Not all of my fantasies end up in fights though, I "succeed" once or twice with a lovely little scene that I just want to be real. All of these are too private to mention here, but yeah, they're all about him. Things that I want to talk to him about, but they're not really online chat-material. So I live in my at the moment, chosen fantasy world. I realise I have quite many of those. But the chosen ones are the best.
What just became of the last three or four hours? It seems to have slipped my mind. Sometimes I don't understand how I can make hours, days, weeks disappear just by staring at my computer screen basically. Well it's better than staring into a wall, which I tend to do when I'm somewhere I don't have access to my computer. Come to think of it, I have been staring into the wall quite a bit as of lately. These weird fantasies... I get so caught up in them that the screen is distracting. It's like watching a movie, and then the wall makes such a better background for it.
The fuck... is this why so many other not so sane people seem to stare into walls for long periods of time? Or am I the only one having a movie marathon in my own head for hours? Sometimes I get very sucked into my thoughts, that I find the world around me to be distracting - rather than the other way around. Then I go all in mode with a scenery: a bar, an apartment, a class room, a school yard, or anything really. Decide who's gonna be there, time of day, prior events and so on. Basically creating a snap shot. Then I find a topic of conversation, an opening line and just go with it.
So... that's a way of passing time, I suppose. Not all of my fantasies end up in fights though, I "succeed" once or twice with a lovely little scene that I just want to be real. All of these are too private to mention here, but yeah, they're all about him. Things that I want to talk to him about, but they're not really online chat-material. So I live in my at the moment, chosen fantasy world. I realise I have quite many of those. But the chosen ones are the best.
Strangers who care, beware
I've had it with this, I just wanna shut off my phone and throw it into a box and bury it in my endless chaos of other boxes. The crew is so damn fucking annoying I'm tearing myself to pieces every time they call. "To check on me" oh god damn I hate it when people care! Just fuck off, leave me alone! Why can't they just leave me alone?
I have a sensation I'm gonna get snarkier by each phone call until some unlucky one becomes a victim of my dark side. By which I mean something like verbal abuse. Yet I keep pushing it, instead of just telling them up front about it. I usually do that. Lash out first, explain afterwards. Neat for an interrogation technique perhaps, but not in real life.
I think maybe I have something personal against the crew specifically. People working as care-takers in regards to psychological matters tend to make me itchy. I just can't handle it when people I don't know show care for me like that. And I feel like an asshole because I don't want, can't understand or handle their intruding affections. I've hurt people because of this. I feel like shit knowing that by caring about me, people are at risk of being hurt by me, just because they care. What kind of monster am I?
Now this only goes for people that I don't know and or don't know me. If a friend cares about me, that is wonderful, because then I know it is genuine. Then it's not just that over all sympathy/empathy you can get for feeling bad over a random person who's in pain. I feel like a dog that's been run over by a car and that's why these strangers care. I don't want that, they do it out of pity. And I really loathe pity. Most of all I loathe my own fucking self pity, but that's another chapter.
One thing I don't understand is, if the same person, or persons, keep this act up, or whatever I should rightfully call it I don't know. Even after I have calmly explained how I feel about that, and it just increases their care! It's a downward spiral until I just finally snap. All I try is to explain myself and make them at least stop showing that "aw poor you" face, and I end up breaking them. Not so well played, but with all good intentions.
I just don't want this to become a trend regarding the crew. I've snapped once, and that can be excused, but doing it a second time might not be taken quite so lightly. And this isn't just some psych-ward, this is my permanent residence. I can't keep fucking things up all the damn time. Especially sabotaging relationships with people I'm dependent on is a really bad idea.
I have a sensation I'm gonna get snarkier by each phone call until some unlucky one becomes a victim of my dark side. By which I mean something like verbal abuse. Yet I keep pushing it, instead of just telling them up front about it. I usually do that. Lash out first, explain afterwards. Neat for an interrogation technique perhaps, but not in real life.
I think maybe I have something personal against the crew specifically. People working as care-takers in regards to psychological matters tend to make me itchy. I just can't handle it when people I don't know show care for me like that. And I feel like an asshole because I don't want, can't understand or handle their intruding affections. I've hurt people because of this. I feel like shit knowing that by caring about me, people are at risk of being hurt by me, just because they care. What kind of monster am I?
Now this only goes for people that I don't know and or don't know me. If a friend cares about me, that is wonderful, because then I know it is genuine. Then it's not just that over all sympathy/empathy you can get for feeling bad over a random person who's in pain. I feel like a dog that's been run over by a car and that's why these strangers care. I don't want that, they do it out of pity. And I really loathe pity. Most of all I loathe my own fucking self pity, but that's another chapter.
One thing I don't understand is, if the same person, or persons, keep this act up, or whatever I should rightfully call it I don't know. Even after I have calmly explained how I feel about that, and it just increases their care! It's a downward spiral until I just finally snap. All I try is to explain myself and make them at least stop showing that "aw poor you" face, and I end up breaking them. Not so well played, but with all good intentions.
I just don't want this to become a trend regarding the crew. I've snapped once, and that can be excused, but doing it a second time might not be taken quite so lightly. And this isn't just some psych-ward, this is my permanent residence. I can't keep fucking things up all the damn time. Especially sabotaging relationships with people I'm dependent on is a really bad idea.
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